


carve your love into me (leave your mark)

by wartransmission



Series: carve your love into me (leave your mark) [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 19:12:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9562676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wartransmission/pseuds/wartransmission
Summary: The first time he met Prince Viktor, Yuuri was greeted with a smile- a sweet smile, charming in its try for warmth- and the words, “Would you like me to escort you home? This place isn’t safe for pretty omegas like you on nights like these.”[In which Viktor is a king-to-be, Yuuri is more than what he seems, and even decisions made for the pettiest of reasons can lead to big, life-changing things.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Note:** There will be the occasional mention of Viktor having a harem, but no actual scenarios will ever be described of him being with anyone else. There may be the rare mention of Yuuri considering Viktor being with another, but it will only be that- just Yuuri, overthinking things.
> 
> Just a warning for anyone who feels iffy about Viktor/Others, which I can totally understand!! ♥

Yuuri had only presented himself as a candidate to Prince Viktor out of a heart-hungry attempt at seeing the man’s face for a final time.

It was selfish. He knew as much, when he’d first told his family of what he wanted to do. He explained that it was just him taking chances, that it was laughable he would ever be accepted, but he wanted to try it anyway- if only just to give himself the closure he needed. It was a high honor, much as few other (more privileged) people would assume otherwise, to be one of the Prince’s favored.

But that wasn’t what he came here for.

It would be an honor, true, to be able to touch and hold the Prince, not just because of his stature- but also because he is admired, respected, and _loved_ by his own people. It would be a privilege- a blessing, even- to be able to kiss his lips and say that he had the chance to be with this man who is, somehow, a mixture of undeniable charm and cool, quiet reservation.

But he came, not because of the honor it would grant him to be so close to the Prince, but because he wanted to crush the childish feelings sprouting from within his chest. Childish, because he knows better than to ever hope that he could come _close_ to the man. He was no poor boy- his family had its own way of getting by, but he was no prince or princess to get the Prince’s attention. He was nothing special on his own, either; at best, he was a decent dancer, but beyond that, there was nothing more that he could boast to his name.

And so, in his twenty-third year of life, he chose of his own will to step into the palace, suited for battle of a different kind as he stands before the Prince and his advisers. He came to bid his unspoken goodbye to the man he so admires, the man who first taught him what grace meant whilst dancing on ice, the man who had unintentionally shamed him by assuming he was a sweet, gentle omega when they first met.

It was no insult to be thought of as one, make no mistake. Neither was it new to him, being mistaken for the generally warmer, softer gender. He had always been reserved as a child, quiet, and inclined to filling his stomach with food in favor of letting his anxiety swallow him whole. He had grown soft because of this; tummy rounded, cheeks full, and heart a crystalline thing that could so easily crack given the right- or wrong- kind of push. To be regarded as an omega was nothing that he hadn’t experienced before in his quiet hometown, where his own people saw him as a pliant, timid thing.

And yet.

And yet-

Yuuri had expected better of this man, who always spoke of no judgment and adored surprising his people with his ingenuity and kindness. It had been a cold, moonlit night the first time they met, and Yuuri had thought he was alone as he skated on winter-frozen pond water. The Prince had taken him by surprise with his presence, his footsteps unannounced on snow-thick forest grass, and much as Yuuri had always thought he was an amazing person, to be able to lead his kingdom so well and retain such kind, warm charisma, his being there had felt like a violation of his private, quiet rumination.

He was greeted with a smile the first time their eyes brushed gazes- a sweet smile, charming in its try for warmth- and the words, “Would you like me to escort you home? This place isn’t safe for pretty omegas like you on nights like these.”

The Prince was kind, certainly. He had meant well. He was only trying to be courteous, as he usually would be for anyone else, but it was the wrong time and the wrong place and Yuuri had felt his heart drop to be treated as if he were frail and incapable of protecting himself. It had piled up, right on top of his dog’s recent death, and he had felt too frustrated, felt too miserable, to even so much as appreciate the Prince’s kind offer.

It’s bittersweet and selfish, this half-hearted attempt at farewell for his feelings because of such a small, petty thing, but.

He certainly hoped he’d surprise the Prince here, at least, just to satisfy the quiet craving of his heart for recognition.

And so, he stands, firm in his quiet pride and the bittersweet taste on his tongue as he lets them, advisers and the Prince both, figure out the unspoken truth of what he is. His scent, which he often tamps down with scent-blockers, is left unchecked today; it is not so strong that anyone else would feel heady with it, but it is strong enough that anyone would be able to tell from a sniff that he isn’t what he appears to be.

There’s a resounding silence in the room as he bows his head in respect, before the quiet blooms into a din of surprise and unmistakable outrage at the gall of him to present himself as a choice for the Prince’s harem of beta and omega lovers.

Suddenly, he begins to think that this isn’t such a good idea after all.

_What was I thinking, doing this?_ he thinks to himself, breath coming out in a wheezing huff as he tries not to let his chest heave too hard in a show of nervousness. _Why did I ever think it was a good idea to present myself for the Prince’s harem for such a petty reason? Oh, god, my family would be so **ashamed**_ _once they hear of this. To think they let me go at all, that they would let me embarrass myself like this-_

Then the silence returns, effectively cutting off the rambling in his head, and Yuuri peeks up through his black hair- terrified but curious all the same- to see that the Prince has raised his hand in a gesture for silence. His expression is firm, serious in the creases of his furrowed brows and frowning lips, until it all too quickly fades into a bright, sun-warm smile.

The Prince says,

“I want _him_ ,”

and Yuuri-

Yuuri’s mind goes blank, his eyes going unfocused for the briefest of moments in disbelief at the words he’s just heard, until-

“ _What_?!” he blurts out, before slapping both of his hands onto his gaping mouth.

The Prince only grins in return, giving his final blow with a flirtatious _(?!)_ wink in his direction.

If there has ever been a more perfect chance for him to finally experience what it’s like to actually faint, it would be in this very moment, as the Prince stands expectantly before him with his advisers all varying degrees of silent (or not so silent) judgment against him.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how he looks at it), his nerves have never been weak enough even at his most anxious-ridden, never frail enough to make his lungs give in and heart give out to let him exit out of this horrifyingly embarrassing mess of a situation that he got himself into. So he stands, still, fidgeting under the Prince’s gaze as he smiles widely in what Yuuri feels is inexplicable, oddly smug pleasure.

Yuuri clenches his eyes shut, squeezing his fists by his sides as he thinks,

_God, what have I gotten myself into?_


	2. Chapter 2

Yuuri had once hoped to meet the prince, if only just to set his gaze on grace and charm embodied.

(He was a child; it was a given he would have such tooth-achingly sweet and embarrassing dreams.)

Then he grew, and so did his hopes.

From excitement in his bones whenever the Prince and his people come around town, to hidden admiration that led him to the ice, he became a boy content with watching to a man intent on being _more_. Forget being a mere audience member- he wanted to be _with_ Viktor, standing on the same ice, even if it’s only for a short moment in his entire lifetime.

So he practiced. He made his feet bleed, made his legs cry for mercy, skated his heart out until all his body knew and loved at the age of twenty-three was the cool wind of winter as he danced on star-bright ice. He practiced, practiced even more, practiced hard enough that the occasional pain of his stumbles became more motivation than anything else.

He could be more.

He _would_ be more, _would_ be good enough to skate alongside the Prince.

Or so he’d thought.

All too quickly, like lightning in its speed and life cycle, his dreams came crashing down upon him when he was reminded that this- skating, grace and beauty, _talent_ \- is not something he has been blessed with. Even with his family and friends’ assurances, even with their support, he knows:

he isn’t good enough.

Perhaps he never will be.

He had failed the auditions that went around various towns for potential partners and dancers by the Prince’s side. He had choked on his own nervousness, anxiety consuming what remained of his burnt-out lungs as he stumbled and flubbed every jump he ever did in front of a vast audience. What eagerness he’d had, what stubbornness he’d felt in continuing his path to grace despite what they said about him being an _Alpha_ , born brutish and graceless, quickly turned into ash and bitter misery in his mouth as he struggled to remember what this was all for.

Was it worth it, practicing so hard that he forgot Vicchan?

Was it worth it, to leave his precious dog for so long and so often just so he could have his shot at skating with a man who would probably never remember, or even _know_ , his name from his countless number of fans?

It wasn’t a question he thought he’d get an easy answer to. Almost none of the questions in his head are so simple, considering how he overthinks practically everything. To have the Prince _himself_ come along and answer it for him, with elegance in his every step and a surprising amount of glib denigration on his tongue, was nothing short of a (painful, bittersweet) blessing in disguise.

Who better to crush his heart than the man he so admired?

 

* * *

 

He had thought he was alone, then. In the cold of winter and darkness of night, with the forest silent save for a couple of wandering winter-birds, it would have been a given that no one would bother him. It was too cold, too dangerous, too _dark_ for anyone to want to venture into the forest’s lone winter-frozen pond just to skate. He was the only one who would, and his parents knew this; they knew that he needed this, needed the comfort of privacy as he skated the feelings his heart could not properly portray outside of the ice.

So he had taken sanctuary there, in the winter embrace of the forest. Even with his inappropriate clothes and the chill settling in his bones, he had found his haven in the silence and solitude of that lone pond, where he could offer his apologies and prayers to the beloved pet that had stayed by his side in all his stubbornness and childish dreams.

Then he’d heard the slow whistle, the whisper of a clap, and he’d broken himself out of his rumination to look up and see-

the Prince, standing at the pond’s edge, watching him with an intent gaze.

Suddenly, all too quickly, he felt his heart sink.

_He saw that._

_The Prince saw that._

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t even bear to utter words. He wiped at his eyes in a furious rush, feeling humiliated and frustrated at having been seen in a moment of weakness by the very man he thinks the world of.

_Why now, of all times?_

“That was beautiful,” the Prince said, his voice barely reaching Yuuri’s ears with the numbness of mortification settling itself right in his head, “ _you_ were beautiful.”

Then,

“But, would you like me to escort you home? This place isn’t safe for pretty omegas like you on nights like these.”

Again, somehow, his heart sinks deeper- deep enough, perhaps, to reach outside the soles of his feet and into the ice.

 _I know already,_ he thought, frustrated and disappointed as he started to skate to the edge opposite where the Prince was standing, _I know that I’m not what people expect._

_I know that I don’t live up to the expectations people have of me._

He ignored whatever else it is the Prince said after him, choosing to shut his ears and heart to the man as he got off the ice and leaned onto a boulder for support while he unlaced his skates. Quietly, he offered thanks to whatever higher being was out there that he decided to put his shoes by the boulder instead of where the Prince is, because it would be the height of humiliation if he had to come close to the man after ignoring him so blatantly.

With his boots on and his skates in one hand, he left, and not once did he look back.

  

* * *

 

 

 

And yet, with only a few weeks in between, he makes his return anyway.

(He wonders, had he been any less petty, would he have done this at all?)

 

* * *

For all that the little details had passed over his head when he first stepped into the palace, everything having gone muted and blank in his head as he was presented, they all come crashing into him once everything sinks in.

 _The Prince chose me_.

The Prince chose him, in all his petty glory, as an addition to his harem of lovers. His harem of _beta_ and _omega_ lovers. His harem that _sleeps_ with him, his harem that he- he-

Oh, _god_.

He had been so certain, so sure, that the Prince would never bother with him; how could he have known to prepare himself for this? This was- this was impossible! Surely, surely, he must be imagining all of this? Surely, this must all be a complex, fanciful hallucination?

But no- no, he’s _not_ , if he’s going to go by the whispers finally reaching his ears. What had been utter silence in his head and out when he’d first presented himself is now a mess of _noise_ , anger and disbelief stabbing through his thick skin with every word that falls from everyone’s lips. Advisers and fellow candidate alike, all strangers to him and with good reason for judgment, saying:

 

_“Him? Isn’t he an alpha?”_

_“Prince Viktor likes his surprises, but isn’t this too much?”_

_“Preposterous! We can’t have our Prince choosing a fellow alpha to add to his harem!”_

 

Then, just when Yuuri starts feeling _extremely_ faint from the lack of air in his lungs, the Prince speaks, tone sincere in its questioning, “What’s wrong if he’s another alpha?”

“ _Vitya_ ,” begins one of the advisers, the sound of Viktor’s supposedly affectionate nickname falling rough and flat from his mouth, “this is unheard of. Had you been an omega, or a beta, we could grant this, but-”

The Prince is smiling in all his beauty and grace when Yuuri straightens (as much as he can, considering the shame that makes him want to curl in on himself) up to look at him. He says, “You thought I was an omega in my youth, didn’t you, Yakov? Why not let me have this? It’s one small thing- he offered himself up too, it’s not like I’ll be forcing myself upon him.”

Yuuri swallows, because that’s-

that’s true, as much as he hates to admit it.

“Before anything else, though,” the Prince says, smile sweet but somewhat cool as he regards the other candidates, “I think it’s best we dismiss the others. You’re all beautiful, each attractive, but.” At the pause, his gaze falls on Yuuri, and Yuuri finds himself swallowing because the pressure-

the pressure is _too much_.

Why _him?_

The Prince’s gaze settles on him, heated and intent, and Yuuri, maybe, forgets to breathe for a moment in time. It’s one thing to fantasize that your life-long idol might look and finally _see_ you as you were, instead of as another person in the masses; it’s another thing entirely to actually have his sights set on you and you alone.

“I’m only looking for one, today,” the Prince says, the last word added on like an afterthought that Yuuri actually feels even _more_ of the weight on his chest.

 _Today?_ he thinks, bordering on hysteria as he tries and fails to _not_ overthink, _how much more does he need? Why is it only me today? What did he see in me?_

“Yuuri?”

He jerks at the call, blinking wide-eyed up at the Prince when he realizes that he was addressed by his first name. When he gives a quick look around, he notices that they have been left alone in the dancing hall, only the Prince accompanying him in the vast, elegantly decorated room. “Sire?” he asks, voice tremulous but trying at confidence as he peeks up at him through curling black eyelashes.

“You don’t need to be so nervous,” the Prince says, smile oddly soft on his face as he comes closer. He steps right into Yuuri’s personal space as though it were nothing, as though propriety mattered less in the face of royalty, and Yuuri-

Yuuri, with all the territoriality of his gender but none of the aggression, takes a step back on instinct.

The Prince’s smile takes on a note of confusion, now. But he’s smiling still, even as he says, “There’s no need for formalities either. I want you to call me Viktor.”

“I couldn’t,” Yuuri blurts out, before pressing his lips firmly shut in horror at his impudence. _As if I haven’t been impudent enough, coming here to present myself!_

“But I insist,” Viktor says, smile growing soft, softer, until it is all warm sultriness and Yuuri has to swallow a squeak of embarrassment at being shown such a look. Then the Prince steps closer and Yuuri, remembering himself better, remains standing where he is, only to realize how horrible a decision that is when he finds Viktor raising a hand to caress his cheek. “Yuuri,” the Prince murmurs, voice hot velvet in Yuuri’s ear as he leans in, “won’t you call me by my name?”

He scrambles back once the shock has finished setting in, barely digesting the disappointed look on the Prince- Viktor’s face as he squawks, “Yes sire! I mean, Viktor!”

“You’re acting oddly shy, for a person who’s presented himself in my harem,” Viktor muses, index finger pressed to his lips as he smiles in what seems to be amusement. “We’re alone, and everyone already knows that I want you. There’s no need to be so anxious, Yuuri.”

“Yes,” Yuuri concedes, voice soft as he clenches his fists by his sides. “That’s,” his voice trails into silence, before coming back a little louder, “that’s true. But si- Viktor.” He pauses, taking note of how Viktor’s face lights up at the use of his name, “I’ve never…done anything. Of this nature.”

Viktor cocks his head to one side, and Yuuri desperately hopes he won’t have to ask him to clarify what he means. Then he asks, “Sex, you mean?” and Yuuri just about dies on another plane of existence, soul escaping his body as he tries to reconcile this current conversation with the reality of his life at the moment.

“Yes,” he confirms, tone signaling defeat as he bows his head.

“That’s nothing to be ashamed about,” Viktor says, and Yuuri finds sincerity in his gentle smile when he looks up at him.

“But,” Yuuri begins to retort, stubborn to a fault, “I should have some experience, at least, to be able to- to do my job.” _So please, rethink your decision about me. I’ll embarrass myself more than I’ll be able to satisfy you like this,_ he pleads quietly to Viktor, hoping his thoughts will be heard.

But the Pri- _Viktor_ doesn’t hear him, the same way Yuuri hadn’t heard- had _chosen_ not to hear- Viktor’s voice when he walked away from him the first time. “Then you’ll begin by learning with me,” Viktor says, tone light and smile warm as he holds out a hand for Yuuri to take. Yuuri bites back another complaint because he has no room for it, not when he was the one petty enough to present himself like this just to surprise the man.

So he reaches out, intent on taking Viktor’s hand for a handshake, but instead finds himself shocked into silence when Viktor turns his hand up to press a kiss on his knuckles in a gesture of false affection. (False, because what else could it be? True affection couldn’t come from a glance, no matter how people insist that it could.)

Viktor smiles, and all the breath leaves his lungs when those beautiful blue eyes look up through silver lashes to look into him.

“I look forward to learning with you, Yuuri.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did it!! finished at 12am lmao, so i might be a zombie at work, but had fun ❤️ hmu on [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/jadedGalvanizer) if u wanna talk or suggest anything!!


	3. Chapter 3

“ _I look forward to learning with you, Yuuri.”_

Yuuri jerks into attention at those words, hand almost flying out of Viktor’s hold had the Prince not been squeezing tightly onto the appendage. He’s sure he looks like a goldfish with the way his mouth is alternating between a gawp and closed-mouthed surprise, and shame would well up at how unattractive that is if he wasn’t already too busy with trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts inside his head.

“I’m sure that’s far too much effort on your part, your hi-“ he swallows, correcting himself at the sharp look on the Prince’s face, “ _Viktor_.”

“Hardly!” Viktor says, changing from a cool smile to a bright, sun-warm grin so quickly that Yuuri is dazed by it. “I can’t think of a more enjoyable thing to do than learning about you.”

Yuuri mind blanks at that. “Learning about me..?” he parrots, too out of it to even sound confused.

“Everything about you,” Viktor confirms, smile all sultry heat now as he brings Yuuri’s hand up to press a kiss to his wrist. Yuuri jolts at the seductive gesture, eyes going wide when Viktor trails his kisses up to the tips of his fingers. “Your mind, your body…I would want nothing less, Yuuri.”

“Your hi- _Viktor_ ,” he chokes out, barely holding back a shudder when Viktor presses Yuuri’s hand to his cheek, “Th-that’s…”

_Knock knock knock._

Yuuri jolts, ripping his hand out of the Prince’s grasp as he turns to look at whoever it was that had knocked so harshly on the dance hall’s thick wooden door.

He’s barely even finished heaving a sigh of relief, being able to step out of the Prince’s space, when he finally realizes just who it is he’s facing and paleness paints itself white over his face. Standing before them at the doorway, graceful even in a simple stand, is the strict, terrifying former prima ballerina of the Bolshoi ballet that had once taught his own ballet coach, Okukawa Minako.

_Madame Lilia Baranovskaya._

“I see you’ve made an unusual choice this time,” she says, and he tenses, slowly starting to digest the trouble he’s gotten himself into with all his pettiness.

It was one thing to have gone to the palace, be rejected, and be _done_ with the entire thing. That wouldn’t have been worth any trouble, considering how he was already in the area due to his intention to visit a friend nearby. (Yuuri also wonders, given the circumstances; would his pettiness have gotten him this far at all, had he not been given another push by his well-meaning best friend, Phichit?)

 _“Why not give it a shot?”_ Phichit had said, smile eager and eyes sparkling with mischief. “ _Let him remember you for this, at least! Let him know how frustrated you were with him!_ ”

He had listened, bitterness and vindication hot in his chest at having his friend support him, and _look_ at where that got him.

Here, in the palace, with the Prince having said yes to the offer of his (and he shudders, thinking this,) body.

This was not how things were supposed to go.

Viktor sighs when Yuuri chances a peek at him, a flash of annoyance passing over blue eyes so quickly that Yuuri doubts he saw it at all. With a smile on his face, less heat and more cool composure on pink lips, Viktor says, “Madame Baranovskaya.”

“This is a first,” Madame Baranovskaya says, gaze hard and critical on Yuuri’s form as she steps into the hall. He is tense still, barely holding himself up in front of her as she comes closer to inspect him. “Only one to add to your harem, and a male alpha at that.”

Unspoken, but palpable in the downward curl of her mouth, she adds, _How do you expect me to deal with an ungraceful alpha like him?_

Frustration wells up in his lungs and heart at the unspoken disappointment on her face. He knows what she’s here for; despite his impulsiveness in coming here, he had done his research on how the acceptance process for the Prince’s harem usually goes. Even if he had come in for the sole purpose of making a statement despite being rejected, he didn’t want to come unprepared for anything (which is ironic, given the current situation).

He knows that she trains those who come into the harem- those who are _worthy_ of her time _-_ as dancers, teaching them grace and beauty that would ensure they deserved to be called the Prince’s own. He knows that her standards are beyond any average person’s grasp, what with her own immeasurable achievements in ballet as a prima. He knows that he isn’t _good enough_ for her.

It doesn’t make him feel any less miserable, any less _irritated_ , knowing that she looks down on him even when she’s an alpha as well.

Is it so wrong, so impossible, to be graceful despite being a man and an alpha?

Is it so _unbelievable_ that she has to look at him in such a way?

“Ah, but you’ll adore him, I’m sure,” the Prince says, breaking through his thoughts with his cheerful voice and bright-eyed smile. “He’s beautiful when he dances, Madame!”

 _Ah_.

He blanches at the reminder of their first meeting, turning wide-eyed and dismayed at the Prince even when the man sends him a sweet smile in return. Dread curls at the pit of his stomach as he hopes with all the fervor he can muster that the Prince stop speaking about it, because _what else_ would he speak about if not Yuuri’s impertinent disregard for him?

Still, the Prince goes on, “I caught him off-guard while he was skating alone weeks ago, and he looked so graceful as he skated that I swore I could hear music even if there wasn’t any. He has room for improvement of course, especially when it comes to more technical areas of skill, but his natural grace is more than commendable.”

“Oh?” she hums, a new kind of gleam in her eyes as she raises a brow while giving him a once-over. “I will be the judge of his grace, still. We will see if he lives up to your praise.”

He turns to her at those words, still wide-eyed and yet, less fearful than he was before. A cautious, fluttering hope rises in him, interspersed with nervousness at how the Prince remembers their first meeting. It wasn’t his intention to be accepted, certainly, but if Madame Baranovskaya were to consider him as one of her students-

he could have his chance to be on the ice again, to be at a level where people would see him as more than a faux omega. The privilege would be more than he could ever ask for, especially knowing how she rarely ever takes in and _keeps_ her students when they do not live up to her expectations.

“I,” he begins to speak up, swallowing nervously when the Prince perks up and turns to look at him, “I’ll do my best, madame.”

“Hm,” she hums, looking thoughtful as she considers him. “Come here,” she orders, and he follows, stepping forward and stopping when she halts him with a hand. He twitches in surprise when she cups his cheeks and pries open his mouth with her hands, though he relaxes when she speaks up with, “No cavities.”

She gestures to the barre and he heads over obediently, doing a stretch for her and barely holding back a squeak of embarrassment when she none too gently helps him by forcing his one leg upwards and further inward. “Physically abysmal,” she comments as she lets him lower his leg. He flushes pink at her harsh criticism, knowing best the source of how physically lacking he is.

(He only has his food to lean back on, now, after the blow of losing his Vicchan.)

“But you’ll consider him, yes?” the Prince says, his voice barely carrying the tone of a question with how he looks almost sure of her agreement. His smile is unwavering in Yuuri’s peripheral vision, straight-backed stance telling of his confidence as he stands to Yuuri’s side.

“I only teach those who want to be the best; I do not choose students who are half-hearted in their attempts at learning from me,” she answers, tone clipped as she keeps her gaze on Yuuri. She looks at him, almost as if an answer can be found in his eyes, and says, “Only those willing to sell their soul to succeed are worthy of my time.”

“Then,” he answers, pulling and prying at the courage slowly curling outwards from his stomach, “I’ll do better.” He swallows, fists clenching at his sides as he tugs at the pride that had already fallen to pieces when he first decided to come here. “My body and soul are yours to train, Madame.”

She nods, satisfaction bright and surprisingly warm in her eyes, and he feels a whoosh of breath leaving his mouth in a soft sigh.

(He doesn’t notice the Prince, practically vibrating in his excitement as he smiles brightly at him.)

“We start our training tomorrow morning at 6am,” she says, and he nods his agreement. Then, as though a flip were switched, she turns her hard gaze to the Prince and says, “You are not to distract him while he is under my care, your highness.”

Yuuri blinks, confused at the warning tone in her voice. The Prince only smiles at her words, cool and calm as he says, “Worry not, I won’t play with him while he’s training with you. Besides,” he pauses to wink at Yuuri, who stares in bewildered embarrassment at him, “I’ve decided we’re taking it slow. I wouldn’t want to spoil our fun by being too excited.”

He bites the inside of his cheek at the Prince’s casual flirting, turning his head away before he can so much as meet eyes with the Prince again. His hand is at his chest before he can stop himself, squeezing over the place where his heart is as he takes in a deep breath. _This is nothing new to him_ , he thinks, gritting his teeth. _I am one of many. The flirting is part of his nature and I shouldn’t assume anything._

As though hearing his thoughts, the Prince comes closer and bumps him in the shoulder, asking, “Could we start somewhere, at least?”

Yuuri blinks twice in succession, confused. “What?” he asks.

The Prince- _Viktor_ , smiles at him like he’s a particularly adorably puppy. (He would know that look; it’s much the same as his face whenever he’s facing Vicchan.) Viktor clarifies, “Is holding hands okay?”

Yuuri’s face heats up at the innocent question, gaze turning to Madame Baranovskaya (who looks weary and resigned, despite all her firmness) in bewilderment before moving back to Viktor. “I- yes? Yes, it’s fine.”

Viktor’s face lights up, and he immediately seeks out Yuuri’s hand to twine their fingers around each other.

It is definitely _not fine_ , because Yuuri’s heart feels like it’s going to explode right out of his chest.

“I’ll be showing Yuuri around, then,” Viktor tells Madame Baranovskaya, squeezing his hand around Yuuri’s as he starts to tug him in the direction of the door. “I won’t keep him up too late tonight, I promise!” he exclaims with a laugh and a wink.

Yuuri may as well burst into flames with embarrassment at how undeniably _flirtatious_ Viktor is.

And yet, he wonders.

Is it really worth it, to give his body away just for the sake of being under Madame Baranovskaya’s tutelage?

Is it worth it, to throw his pride away like this for the sake of something a little more than his average self?

He would find out eventually, he supposes.

 

* * *

 

They’ve made their way to the ballroom, the throne room, the library halls, the sprawling maze garden, the kitchens, the dining hall, and the servants’ quarters, before Yuuri finally catches his breath at Viktor’s whirlwind-like energy and manages to speak up, “Where will I be staying, your hi- Viktor?”

“You really need to get used to my name in your mouth, Yuuri,” Viktor says, amused smile only growing wider when Yuuri makes a choked sound in reply. “It shouldn’t be so hard to get used to it, should it? No one will berate you for using my given name.”

“I don’t think it’s appropriate, though,” Yuuri says, avoiding Viktor’s gaze as he looks down the long corridor to the servants’ quarters. There are a few servants roaming around, occasionally giving their polite greetings to the prince and the occasional curious look Yuuri’s way. He kind of hates it. “You’re the prince, and I’m barely even anyone of the same social status,” he says as an addition to his previous point.

“That hardly matters when I’m the one who told you to call me by my name,” Viktor cheerily replies.

Yuuri gives him a blank look. He says, letting some of his frustration seep into his voice, “You can’t expect everyone to know that you were the one to tell me to use your given name. It’s not in writing for everyone to simply know that I was ordered to do it.”

“Oh, they know, trust me,” Viktor assures him, and Yuuri starts to wonder just how _wrong_ he has been with his previous impression of the prince.

He had thought the man charming, certainly, and he had admired him for that. He was (and still _is,_ if Yuuri were to be perfectly honest) attractive, graceful, courteous, and an odd mix of cool distance and soft warmth.

But now, having held the man’s hand for probably more than an hour as they wandered around the vast palace, Yuuri is starting to reconsider the image he has of the man inside his head.

_Has the prince that I’ve admired for so long always been so…worryingly carefree?_

“If you insist, Viktor,” Yuuri concedes, the words quietly followed by a weary sigh as he lets Viktor lead him forward and further down the corridor. “But, where will I sleep?”

Viktor gives him an odd look, as though the question were an unreasonable one. Yuuri bites the inside of his lip in turn. It’s not strange that he’s so frustrated, is it? Because _how_ is he supposed to know the answer to his own question when he’s barely even spent an entire day in the palace? How is he to know just which part of the servants’ quarters he is to stay? He barely even knew if the Prince’s harem had their own area!

“Is there an area for your harem?” he asks instead, trying not to feel too embarrassed at speaking the word aloud. “You didn’t mention anything about it earlier.”

“Oh, there is!” Viktor says, smile bright as he tugs Yuuri a little closer by the hand. With his free hand, he gestures to the closed doors they pass by, and says, “They’re right by the servants’ quarters, actually. My advisors told me before that I ought to keep them somewhere closer to my room, but I asked them personally where they preferred to stay and they told me they liked it better here.”

“Oh,” Yuuri whispers, a smile curling at the corners of his lips and relief settling lightly on his shoulders. Much as he would like to stew in his frustration considering his circumstances (which _he_ brought on his _own self_ ), it’s getting hard to when he’s seeing how nice Viktor is. “That’s kind of you, Viktor,” he says, finding it in himself to be at least a little bit honest with the man.

Viktor smiles back, a softer kind of warmth in his ocean-blue eyes as he squeezes Yuuri’s hand in his own. “I’m glad you think so, Yuuri.”

And yet, his question remains unanswered. “But, um,” he begins, tone hesitant as he squeezes Viktor’s hand back, “who do I ask on where I’ll be staying in the harem’s quarters?”

The odd look returns on Viktor’s face, yet the smile is still on his lips when he says, “What do you mean?”

Yuuri frowns, because it wasn’t even _that_ confusing a question. “It’s a large area, and I don’t want to feel like I’m intruding on them without warning.”

Viktor blinks once. Twice. Then smiles and tugs him close until their arms are brushing together while saying, “You won’t be staying with them, Yuuri.”

“I won’t?” he asks, confused as he lets Viktor lead him around a corner and further down another hall.

“Of course not,” Viktor says, teasing tone clear in his voice as he smiles at him. They pause in front of a large, ornate door, decorated with trails of silver and gold that Yuuri can’t help from thinking it to be Viktor’s room. Then, as though completely unaware of the metaphorical bomb in his words, Viktor says while gesturing to _his_ door, “You’ll be staying with me! We don’t have to do anything just yet, but that doesn’t mean we can’t sleep together.”

Yuuri squawks a reply, before his free hand flies up to his mouth in embarrassment at the weird sound he’d just made. “Wh-what?” he asks, his voice far too shrill for propriety as he stares at Viktor with wide eyes. “But that’s-”

“If you say it’s inappropriate, I might just have to check if your memory is working well, Yuuri,” Viktor teases, smile growing wider when Yuuri sputters a reply at him. “Why are you getting so embarrassed now? You offered yourself, remember? Or did you think I wouldn’t want you enough to immediately have you in my bed?”

“I- I-” Yuuri stutters, eyes wide with trepidation and disbelief as he tries (and fails, miserably,) to tug his hand out of Viktor’s grasp. “But- you said that we could take it slow!”

“And we are,” Viktor assures him, smile growing soft as he squeezes Yuuri’s hand in his. “I won’t try anything, Yuuri. I promise. It’ll just be a sleepover. You can tell me about yourself, and I’ll do the same. It’ll be fun!”

“What would the others say?” he tries, desperation leaking into his voice at Viktor’s steady refusal of his complaints. “I’ve barely even settled into the palace and already you’re taking me to your quarters-”

“And you’re mine, so what does it matter what they say?” Viktor asks, raising an eyebrow when Yuuri squeaks at his bluntness. “If _anyone_ ,” he begins, tone so full of severity that even Yuuri can’t help from freezing in place, “so much as disrespects you, or looks at you badly, just tell me. I won’t allow any disrespect in my own home, Yuuri. Not even if they’re family, or if it’s anyone politically significant. They _will_ get punished for it, I give you my word.”

“I don’t think I’m worth all that trouble, even if that were to happen,” he murmurs, only to flinch when he feels the firmness of Viktor’s grip around his hand. Quickly, as though to apologize for the rough touch, Viktor raises his hand to press a kiss to his knuckles while tracing circles over the back of his hand with his thumb.

“You are, Yuuri,” Viktor tells him, voice so gentle that Yuuri feels his heart cracking in despair at having Viktor sound as much because of _him_. “You are, believe me.”

“Still,” he manages, voice wobbly with feeling as he squeezes Viktor’s hand in his half-grasp. “Would you really want me in your bed, just so we can talk?” _Is that really all you want?_

“Of course,” is Viktor’s immediate answer, and Yuuri stares at him, finding it difficult to comprehend that Viktor could choose to deprive himself just to go along with his flimsy, weak-hearted wish. “Yuuri,” he begins, lowering the hand he has in his grasp to place it on his chest, where Yuuri finds his heart beating a quick, eager rhythm. “I just want to spend time with you. I want to know you, and I want you to know me in return. It doesn’t have to be more than that if you don’t want it to be.”

“But you want it to be,” he clarifies, brows furrowed as he tries to understand Viktor’s reasoning. “You want _me_.”

Viktor smiles, though the confidence on his face is a faltering thing with the flush his cheeks are sporting. He says, voice sweet and laden with certainty, “Of course I do. Why _wouldn’t_ anyone want you?”

Yuuri stares at him, because he doesn’t understand.

He doesn’t understand how Viktor can be so smooth, so charismatic, yet falter so sweetly at speaking words of praise for Yuuri’s sake.

What did he even _do_ to deserve any of it?

“Okay,” he finally brings himself to say, trying his best not to feel too proud or happy when Viktor brightens up significantly at his reply. Was it really him who was doing this, making Viktor smile so brightly? Was it really in his power to make Viktor feel this way when they’ve only just met? Feeling a slow kind of confidence welling up inside his lungs, he says, “Okay, Viktor. I’ll stay with you.”

“I’m glad,” Viktor says, voice breathy and ineffably happy as he takes Yuuri’s free hand in his hold just to squeeze the palms in his grasp with all the comfort a beautiful stranger ( _technically_ , considering how Yuuri barely knew him as a person yet) could offer him. Then he’s being tugged close, the motion so quick that Yuuri barely even notices he’s already in Viktor’s (warm, so perfectly _warm_ ) embrace until he feels Viktor burying his face in the crook of his neck and shoulder. “I’m so glad, Yuuri,” Viktor repeats, breath warm and pleasurably tingly on his skin in such a way that Yuuri has to _force_ himself not to shiver.

“But, uh,” Yuuri says, his own voice rough and near breathless as he tentatively touches Viktor’s back with his now-free hands. “Could I send a letter to my family, first? I want them to know that I-”

_Unknowingly succeeded in seducing you?_

_Was chosen as your bed partner?_

“-got here safe,” he finishes, face red with embarrassment at his own thoughts.

Viktor beams at him, not one ounce of disappointment on his face as he pulls away from the embrace to lace his fingers with Yuuri’s again. “Of course! I’ll even write with you, to let them know that-”

“No!” he squeaks out, heat rushing up and up and up his head that he feels woozy with it. “It’s fine, really! You don’t need to do that!”

“But I want to?” Viktor says, pout drawn out on his lips as he squeezes Yuuri’s hands in his. “I won’t tell them the specifics of how you introduced yourself to me,” he says, amusement in his tone as he smiles at Yuuri, “but I’d like to tell them that you’re in my care. I wouldn’t want them to worry, after all.”

“No no no no, it’s really fine,” he insists, wiggling his hands out of Viktor’s grasp just to wave them around in his direction in a speedy refusal of his offer. “They’d only get more concerned if you send them a letter, I think. It’d be best to just, um, leave it to me.”

“Well,” Viktor sighs, a hand coming up to rest on his cheek in what seems to be disappointment. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m definitely sure,” he says firmly, nodding furiously just to prove his point.

“Alright then.” Viktor is smiling coolly now, even though it looks like he’d rather continue pouting if it were not undignified for him to do so. He walks into his room and Yuuri follows after him, unable to do anything else when Viktor is tugging him along by the hand. “My study,” at this, he gestures at the dark wooden door to the left of his room, “is connected to my room; you can write your letter there in privacy. But don’t forget,” Viktor warns, lips pursed as he regards Yuuri with a narrow-eyed gaze, “you’re coming back once you’re done.”

Yuuri swallows, but nods his compliance. “Yes, of course,” he says, feeling relief somehow managing to settle in his chest as he smiles at Viktor. “Thank you, Viktor. Really.”

Viktor smiles back, his earlier dissatisfaction quickly fading in favor of the pleased expression on his face. “Anything for you, _Лапушка_.”

Yuuri quirks an eyebrow at the unfamiliar term, but doesn’t comment. Going by the soft smile on Viktor’s face, it could be something affectionate, and truthfully?

Knowing that as a fact would only embarrass him further, because _he still has no idea how he managed to attract Viktor’s attention_.


	4. Chapter 4

Yuuri has never been the type to outright lie, not because he’s _that_ scrupulous a person, but because the difficulty involved in keeping a lie is too much trouble for him.

Having said that, he has to feel a tiny bit guilty at having one of his lies be towards _royalty_ , and not even for a particularly noble reason as it was just him wanting the chance to avoid the Prince. And it’s hypocrisy in its finest form too, considering how _he_ was the one to offer himself up to the man for no other reason than pettiness.

He sighs, burying his face in his hands as he sinks into the ridiculously comfortable chair set behind the Princ- _Viktor’s_ lone study table. He breathes like that for a while, chest rising and falling noticeably with every heaving breathe he releases into his cupped palms. Why couldn’t he have been petty some other way? He knew he was stubborn, and he knew he hated being shown up, but to go to such lengths just because he felt shamed by the man’s disregard for him-

_What was he thinking?_

He had even told his family of what he wanted to do. Certainly, he’d played with the truth a bit, but he told them what his journey would be for. He told them- Minako-sensei and the Nishigoris included because they were close enough to be family- that he would maybe, just _maybe_ , present himself to the prince because he wanted to take his shot at something for once. Minako-sensei had been more than ecstatic at his decision, lewd comments cheerfully spoken in euphemisms as she encouraged him to go, because _why not?_ “You’re young, you’re cute- it wouldn’t be so impossible if he took a chance with you!” she’d said, and he’d laughed awkwardly because that was the _furthest_ thing he’d actually wanted from his planned journey.

Yuuko-san ( _Yuu-chan_ , she would chide if she were to hear him) had been concerned, knowing him better than to easily accept such a decision. She was excited for him, there was no doubt about that, but she had asked him if he _really_ wanted it. She knew of his admiration for the prince, has known it best over anyone else because she adored him as much as he did, and she knew: he wouldn’t do this kind of thing without a particular reason behind it. So he’d explained with the minimum of his truth, told her that he just wanted to see Viktor even if he wouldn’t be chosen, and while she was hesitant about it, she’d accepted it when he wouldn’t budge and give another reason.

With Phichit, he told the truth. Phichit wasn’t family the same way his parents or his sister was, and he wasn’t within the tightly-knit group that included his childhood friends and ballet teacher. Phichit wouldn’t be particularly shamed for knowing the truth, and he wouldn’t have to live every day with Yuuri’s flawed self that this tiny kind of secret, childish and trivial in its very existence, would matter.

So he’d told him about what happened at the pond, told him about the weight he’d felt in the bottom of his lungs at how Viktor had dismissed him as an omega, told him what he wanted to do to get some of his pride back.

Phichit had given him the push he thought he needed.

Now, he thinks he just regrets going along with the wild ideas inside his head.

_Why couldn’t have Viktor reacted the way he was supposed to react? Why did he have to make things so much more complicated than they’re supposed to be?_

Viktor was supposed to be shocked. Viktor was supposed to turn him away, and Yuuri would have held his head high, because Viktor would finally know just _what_ he was and recognize him for that instead of treating him like a common admirer that had to be _protected_ because of his supposed fragility.

Viktor wasn’t supposed to take one look at him and say,

_“I want him.”_

Because what else could it be, other than a cruel joke? What else could it mean, that Viktor would choose him out of a half-full room of beautiful betas and omegas? There was no way that Viktor took a glance at him and seriously, honestly decided that he wanted plain, average _Yuuri_.

No one has ever wanted him before. Honestly, seriously, _wanted_ him as he was. For all that it’s surprising, he’s had his share of his admirers; the fault lay in the fact that most of his suitors believed him to be an omega, and the women who wanted him assumed he could be the alpha they wanted hidden under a mask of reservation. They wanted what they thought he _could be_ , not what he was. It was difficult to see Viktor as being any different, given that the man initially assumed he was an omega as well.

What else could he want from Yuuri, after all? It wasn’t like there was anything else he could offer him.

“Yuuri?”

He flinches at the muffled voice from beyond the shut door of the study. He heaves in another breath, a shudder running down his spine as he feels the slow-settling chill of self-awareness seeping into his bones.

He could run away, right now. He could say no. He could take back what he offered, even if it would shame him and his family name, if that was what he truly wanted.

But he can’t live with that. His pride is too high, his stubbornness too much, for him to go up and admit to regretting his decision to present himself. How would he even explain it? “ _I was just disappointed in you and wanted you to recognize me for what I am?_ ”

He got recognized, didn’t he? Viktor knew- _knows_ \- what he is.

And he still wants Yuuri.

(Does he think Yuuri to be the kind of alpha he can dominate? Does that kind of thing get him off? What does he _want_? _Why was he chosen at all?_ )

This is his reality, now. Much as he’d like to deny it, it’s _Viktor Nikiforov_ standing beyond that door, waiting for him to finish writing his letter for his family. It’s the _Prince_ out there, the man who chose him specifically to be one of his bed partners, and it’s his fault entirely that he was chosen at all.

How could he have been chosen if he had not created the opportunity for it, after all?

(And he can’t deny it, this tiny, fluttering heat blooming in the space where his heart is: for all that he thinks he doesn’t want this, he also knows that he still likes Viktor. Beyond the pretty face- and he _can_ admit to that, at least- is a heart that means well, going by how much Viktor has done with what power he has to help his people.

Maybe, maybe,

Viktor isn’t as bad as he thought he was, that first time their eyes met.

Maybe, maybe,

they were just unfortunate enough to have met in the wrong time, and the wrong place.)

“I’m not done yet,” he replies, holding back the tears of self-induced frustration threatening to spill from his eyes. He breathes in shakily, wiping at his eyes slowly, gently, so as to prevent them from reddening as a consequence of hard friction. He says, “Please, give me a few minutes.”

“Of course, Yuuri. There’s no rush,” Viktor answers, voice so sweet that Yuuri can’t find it in himself to reconcile _this_ voice with the same man who had so shallowly assumed he was an omega in their first meeting.

It’s _this_ , Viktor’s kind voice and gentle touches, the odd note of _affection_ in his every gesture that bothers Yuuri.

He doesn’t understand how this person could be the same man who chose him as another of his companions to warm his bed, as though it were a mere activity to be crossed out of a list of things to do. How can this be the same man he’d admires, this man who would choose from a line of candidates another warm body to entertain him during the palace’s cold nights?

But he has no room to judge him. He is no one, barely a blip in the Prince’s universe, and to presume anything about him-

it would be the height of hypocrisy, wouldn’t it, given that it was the Prince’s quickness to judge that made him feel frustrated with the man in the first place?

“Thank you,” he says, voice croaky in his throat as he, for the nth time, straightens out the blank paper before him. “I’ll be done in a moment, Pr- Viktor,” he manages to add in a murmur.

He could, at the least, let his family know that he was safe- even if he doesn’t understand just _what’s_ going to happen to him now.

He writes,

“ _Dear mom and dad,_

 _I’ve arrived safely at the palace. I might not be able to come back home so soon..._ ”

 

* * *

 

 

“It’s already time for our midday meal.”

Yuuri looks away from the messenger they’d just sent out with his letter, his gaze meeting with Viktor’s as he quietly considers the thought of eating with him. He’s already made enough of an embarrassment of himself while barely doing anything; how much worse would it get if he were to _eat_ in front of the man?

“What would you like?” Viktor asks, holding out a hand as though to ask for his own to hold. Yuuri hesitates, not wanting to overstep any bounds, but Viktor seems to take the slight twitch of his hand for acceptance when he finally reaches out and clasps their hands together.

He tries to keep calm. He _does_. But it seems to fail when Viktor gives a glance at his cheeks and smiles brightly, as though knowing full well how big a betrayal his own body has done to him just by bringing a little more blood to his cheeks than usual.

“I’m fine with anything,” he says, letting Viktor lead him as they leave his room to head for what he assumes is the dining hall.

“That won’t do, _Лапушка,_ ” Viktor tuts, sending a teasing smile his way as they walk down the long halls of his palace. “How can I know you better if you won’t even tell me something as simple as your favorite food? I want to be closer to you, and this is one way to do that.”

“That’s far too much trouble for a mere h-” he chokes on the word, the sound coming out strangled in his mouth before he clears his throat and repeats himself, “harem member, P- Viktor.” 

“You’re not a mere _anything_ , Yuuri,” Viktor says, a frown making its way onto his face as he looks over his shoulder at Yuuri. “You’re beautiful, and graceful, and worth so much more than gold.” Yuuri doubts this, but he knows better than to express his disbelief and cause offense towards the Prince. Viktor continues, “You were full of confidence when you presented yourself, weren’t you? What happened to that?”

“I didn’t think you’d want me,” he answers. His teeth click when he shuts his mouth, and his jaw clenches when he feels Viktor squeezing his hand tightly in his grasp. He looks up this time, less fearful of what Viktor might look like when he’s just being truthful, but the Prince looks almost- _displeased._ He grits his teeth, keeping his mouth shut lest he blurt out, _What now? What could I have said wrong this time?_

“But I do,” Viktor murmurs, slowing in his steps until they’re walking beside each other down the palace’s long halls. “I do want you, Yuuri.”

He swallows, turning his head away to keep from biting out a question tainted with frustration that could very well lead to his punishment. After a beat of a second, when he figures that Viktor won’t say anything more, he says, “Katsudon.”

“What?”

“My favorite food is katsudon,” he says, looking back up at Viktor and smiling when he sees the confusion bright in those ocean-blue eyes. “It’s a bowl of rice topped with pork cutlet and egg, among other ingredients.”

“Oh!” Viktor says, eyes wide and glittering with understanding. Yuuri’s heart skips a beat at the look of him, awe-filled and bright at the smallest thing, and he feels something within him crumble in turn.

It’s so _difficult_ , trying to stay annoyed with this man who looks as if the smallest of wonders could pull a gasp of awe from his mouth.

(Shouldn’t he be bored at this point, having all the riches in the world and all the men and women ready to fall before his feet with the merest whim?

And yet.

And yet,

Viktor is so child-like in his wonder, so easy to please.

It’s so hard, trying to keep himself from liking the man when he’s only showing himself to be more than the placid image Yuuri has kept of him, both in memory and inside an ornate wooden picture frame.)

“I’m sure we could ask one of the servants to try making it,” Viktor says, the smile on his face so oddly cheery and _warmer_ than the public smile Yuuri has often seen him wearing. He doesn’t know how to quantify it, doesn’t even know how to fully _describe_ it, but the difference is palpable. For all that he is statuesque wearing his public smiles, _this_ smile is...

It feels more personal. Like a little secret you weren’t supposed to see, but you did, because he allowed you to.

But he’s probably just seeing things. There’s no logical or valid reason for Viktor to look at him like that.

“I really recommend it,” he says, feeling a little more comfortable now talking about his favorite food. “It’s delicious, especially when my mom makes it.”

“Will I get the chance to taste that, then?” Viktor asks, and Yuuri almost chokes on a breath, trying to imagine Viktor sitting regally with the simple backdrop of his family’s _onsen_.

_No, no no no. Absolutely no way._

“Maybe,” he answers, before snapping his mouth shut in horrified embarrassment at himself. _Maybe? Why is he even_ entertaining _the thought?!_ Perhaps in his youth, he’s always imagined the sight of the Prince coming by and being introduced to the wonders of their onsen and his mother’s katsudon, but he’s older now! More mature! He shouldn’t even be entertaining such childish thoughts!

There’s also the terrifying thought that his parents will see him and Viktor together and know:

Their only son’s been taken in as one of the prince’s courtesans.

_Oh, god._

“But I’m sure your hi- you’d,” he swallows, flushing pink when Viktor raises an eyebrow at him, “you’d much prefer something fancier. My home- our family’s onsen is a long way away too, and the trip might not be worth the trouble.”

“We will see, hm?” Viktor shoots him a wink and he gawps, blinking twice in succession out of bewilderment.

Somehow, he manages an awkward laugh and the words, “Yes, I suppose.” He follows after Viktor, trying to calm the cold gripping at his chest by taking in the details of where they’re headed and-

_Oh, wow._

He stifles a groan of delight at the delicious smell wafting from the kitchens, clenching his jaw to keep his mouth from watering overtly as Viktor leads him into the room and, consequently, further into the heart of the mouthwatering scent of newly cooked food. “Am I allowed in here?” he manages to ask, looking warily at the kitchen help, who only offer polite smiles and tiny nods of respect as they pass by.

“It’s fine, they know that you’re safe,” Viktor says, which earns him another quietly disbelieving look from Yuuri.

_How would they know that I’m “safe”, when I’ve barely spent an entire day in the palace? I could be anyone!_

“Seung-gil,” Viktor calls out, effectively pulling Yuuri out of his thoughts at the familiar name. He blinks wide eyes in surprise when he sees the very man turning around, toque on his head and black pants differentiating him from the other kitchen staff. Viktor barely notices the slow revelation lighting up his face, too focused on introductions as he says, “Meet Yuuri, he’s-”

“I know, your highness,” Seung-gil interrupts. Yuuri stares at him in surprise, because that was a little rude, wasn’t it?

Viktor, when Yuuri looks up at him, doesn’t even look like he cares for the interruption. Though the smile is gone on his face to make way for a surprised look, with his mouth in an o-shape and his eyebrows raised the slightest bit, he doesn’t at all look offended as he does look surprised. He says, “You mean, you know him through me, or-”

Yuuri’s eyebrow rises higher on his forehead at those words. _Through Viktor? What?_

“We’ve met before, at the open markets,” Seung-gil says, tone clipped as it’s always been since Yuuri has known him. He didn’t think Seung-gil would remember him at all, considering how they weren’t actually friends as they were acquaintances who only ever bumped into each other at open markets.

“So it seems you already know the palace’s chef de cuisine,” Viktor says, amused smile on his face as he squeezes the hand he has around Yuuri’s own. “Hopefully you won’t take advantage of him too often, hm?”

“I would never,” he blurts out. He bites on his lower lip when Viktor laughs at him, heart torn on whether to feel offended or proud that he could manage to pull laughter out of a man he’s never seen genuinely laugh before.

_Both. Both works._

“But, back to the reason that we came,” Viktor says, turning back to Seung-gil with a smile. “Would you happen to know how to make katsudon?”

There’s barely a beat of a second before Seung-gil answers with a bland “yes”. His gaze flits from Viktor’s face, to Yuuri’s, then to their hands joined together by clasped palms and fingers. Yuuri starts to feel, more intensely, the sweat starting to form on his nape both because of the heat and nervousness pooling in the pit of his stomach.

Still.

He sucks in a quiet breath, forcing a polite smile on his face as he regards Seung-gil. Seung-gil’s gaze lingers on him a little longer, perhaps _because_ of the smile, before he goes back to looking at Viktor and saying, “How many dishes?”

“Just two,” Viktor cheerily replies. His thumb is stroking circles along the side of Yuuri’s hand, and he would be utterly distracted by how gentle the touch is, but Viktor adds, “And could you have it sent to the balcony by the garden?”

_The balcony? Not the dining hall?_

Yuuri looks up at Viktor with a questioning look, which Viktor only answers with a wide smile and a wink. He blinks back at Viktor in confusion but refuses to word the question, not wanting to embarrass himself further if Viktor doesn’t want to explain himself in front of Seung-gil.

“What would you like to drink with the katsudon, Yuuri?” Viktor asks, and Yuuri tries not to be too distracted by the fluent way Viktor says it.

(Keyword: _tries_.

It’s such a tiny, insignificant thing; Yuuri doesn’t know why it endears Viktor to him a bit more, doesn’t quite understand why the pronunciation should mean anything to him personally, but it does. It’s nice to hear, how Viktor doesn’t deliberately or unknowingly mangle the name of his favorite food after only hearing it for the first time.)

He bites to his lip to stifle a groan of dismay at his own self, because he should really know better. “Tea, please,” he says, all while trying not to let his own thoughts overwhelm him.

_(It’s not so much the correct pronunciation, as it is the correct pronunciation coming from the man he admires so much.)_

 

* * *

 

 

“I wanted us to have our privacy,” Viktor explains a moment later, when they’re already sat across from each other with a circular table between the two of them. Viktor adds, looking down at his katsudon with a gleam in his eye of a man intrigued, “And I wanted you to feel more comfortable eating your favorite food. I’m sure it wouldn’t be as relaxing to eat in such a large hall with so much space and too many people.”

_Too many people?_

“Oh, no,” he murmurs to himself, looking up at Viktor with slow-growing horror in his eyes as he puts his chopsticks back down above his bowl. “You- Viktor, did I pull you away from lunch with other royalty? I’m so-”

“No, no, not at all! I don’t need to eat with the others,” Viktor says, waving a hand in dismissal at Yuuri’s (very valid) concerns. Then, with a bright smile, he says, “I’d much prefer eating alone with you, anyway!”

He is not entirely comforted by this. “But,” he begins, nose wrinkling as he stares (or, more accurately, _squints_ ) at his food, “you didn’t have to bother just so I’ll feel comfortable. You’re. Well.” He looks up, giving Viktor a look that’s a cross between confused and dissatisfied. “You’re the _prince_. You shouldn’t have to adjust for me.”

“I don’t have to, but I want to,” Viktor assures him, smile growing soft as he reaches forward over the table to take Yuuri’s hand in his. Yuuri barely holds back on a flinch but he manages, though he can’t help from staring down at their hands as Viktor traces comforting circles over his skin. “And I’m not adjusting for you, as I am just making a decision that will make both of us happy. It’s selfish, really.”

“I doubt that it is,” he murmurs, peeking up through his lashes to look at Viktor, who looks back at him like he’s something worth smiling for.

He has never been this confused, or overwhelmed, in his entire life. And that’s saying something, considering how he only has an audience of one at the moment as compared to an audience of many when he’d first got into skating as entertainment instead of a mere hobby.

He doesn’t understand Viktor.

(He doesn’t understand much of anything, now that he thinks about it.)

“You should eat your food before it gets cold,” he says, the words a repetition of what his mother would often say to him when he was younger and easily distracted. Viktor nods, bright smile replacing the soft one on his face, and he smoothly digs into his food ( _Viktor can use chopsticks?_ ) with all the fervor of a man eager to try something new.

Yuuri could probably document all of the subtle nuances in Viktor’s expressions and never run out of things to say, because all too quickly, the bright smile on Viktor’s face grows into something even brighter as he truly, almost literally, digs into his food. “ _Vkusno!_ ” he exclaims, face flush with pleasure as he chews and makes appropriately pleased noises through his mouthfuls of rice and pork cutlet. “This so good! Too good!”

Yuuri, because he can’t help himself, smiles fondly at the all-too-happy expression on Viktor’s face. He takes a bite out of his own bowl and makes sure to note the flavor as he chews, before swallowing and saying, “It’s good, but I have to say- my mom still makes the best katsudon.”

Viktor looks incredulously at him, and Yuuri chuckles, because it’s- it’s _something_ , to be able to see the variety in Viktor’s expressions in a mere day. “You mean to tell me that it can be more delicious than this?” Viktor says, staring wide-eyed at Yuuri like he just pulled the sun out of his pocket.

“I could try to cook it for you, sometime,” he offers, before choking back a noise of surprise when Viktor quickly reaches forward to clasp his occupied hand in his own. “V-Viktor?!”

“Please,” Viktor pleads, ocean-blue eyes bright and wide as he flutters his eyelashes at Yuuri. “I’d love it if I could taste your cooking!”

“I-I’m not as good as my mom, but I could try,” he says, willing his voice not to shake as Viktor smiles a sun-bright smile at him while squeezing the hand he has captured in both of his own.

“I’m sure it’ll be delicious,” Viktor insists, and Yuuri laughs, even if the sound falls flat to his own ears.

 _The same way you’re sure that I’m someone worthy enough to be wanted by you?_ he thinks to ask, but refrains, knowing better than to embarrass himself with his own impudence.

“Sure,” he concedes, the smile on his lips forced but smooth enough that Viktor doesn’t question it.

It’s no wonder, really.

Yuuri has long been used to faking smiles that it’s grown natural to him, now.

 

* * *

 

 

If Yuuri had thought his initial tour of the palace was a whirlwind, it’s nothing compared to the actual whirlwind that his second tour is.

Maybe it’s because of lunch, or the dinner they ate. Maybe it’s because of how comfortable he’s become, holding the prince’s hand for hours at a time now. Maybe it’s because he’s grown numb to the reality of his situation, because how else is he supposed to digest the fact that he’s _here_ and Viktor _wants_ him?

Whatever the reason is, the reality is this:

For all that they were left unbothered for the initial tour, the second tour has him meeting so many people that he can barely form names in his mouth anymore. All of them seemed a variety of eager, politely curious, and happy to meet him- which is _strange_ , because he’s nothing more than another servant in the palace! Certainly, he has more…specific duties, but the point stands!

Be they servants, fellow royalty, or close friends of the prince (and what a surprise it was, to know that Christophe Giacometti _knows_ him despite his namelessness compared to the both of them); they all had something to say to him, never once shying away from shaking his hand or giving him a smile as they greeted him and Viktor.

(There were, of course, people who weren’t too pleased with him. He noticed, even if Viktor did his best in steering him away from those people, and oddly enough?

It comforted him, to know that not everyone was so strangely eager to have him by the Prince’s side. It was like having his own doubts confirmed, and having the soft voice in the back of his head validated with the truth that Viktor seems to refuse to concede to him.)

Then the reality of evening, with the full moon hanging beautiful and magical in the starry night sky, crashed upon him like a tidal wave. He had gone through the motions because he did not know what else to do, halfway numb as he bathed and dressed himself for sleeping, up until the moment his brain rewound the day’s events and he _realized:_

He had bathed in a tub too big for him, and Viktor had allowed him his privacy even after he had been told that it was a tub made _for sharing_.

He had worn bedclothes specifically designed for him, as per Viktor’s request to his personal tailor, and the fabric on his skin is likely worth more than his own _life_.

(That’s an exaggeration, but.

It certainly feels like it, going by how comfortable the silk is on his skin.)

Viktor is on his bed, bare besides a single undergarment, and waiting for Yuuri to come out of the bathroom so they can _sleep together_.

Yuuri is pretty certain he’s going to give himself a heart attack, and he’s only _twenty-three._ He’s too young to die from a stroke, and for such a stupid reason! He could handle sleeping over at Phichit’s, couldn’t he? Never mind the fact that Phichit never openly admitted to _wanting_ him- it’s just a sleepover.

_It’s just a sleepover._

And yet, his heart refuses to accept this as it does continue to beat out its tachycardic rhythm as though trying to remind him,

_You are going to sleep with the man you’ve idolized for so long, whose face is plastered all over your bedroom walls, and he **asked** for it because he specifically wanted to know you better._

Well.

If he dies now, at least he can say that his life wasn’t entirely boring, right?

“Yuuri,” Viktor calls from outside the bathroom, and Yuuri flinches in surprise, having been too deep into his thoughts to have expected the lilting voice echoing through the walls. “Are you done?”

“Y-yes!” he says, cursing himself inwardly for the stuttering. He hides his face in his hands for a moment, taking a second to breathe, before he exhales and puffs up his chest in an attempt to feel more confident. He swings open the door before he can overthink it, walking (oh god, his legs are so _stiff_ ) his way to the bed he’s going to share with Viktor and stopping once he’s at the bottom edge of the mattress.

“Well, don’t keep me waiting,” Viktor says, tone teasing as he pats the space beside him on his, frankly, ridiculously luxurious bed. With him on the bed, languid and graceful even without movement, the entire picture before Yuuri just looks too good to be true. It’s like a painting out of history, an artist’s muse made flesh within the confines of a bedroom made for proud royalty.

It’s beautiful.

It’s beautiful, and Yuuri feels as though touching any part of this image will leave him feeling off-kilter with discomfort because it’s _far too perfect_.

Every piece of furniture, the folds in the sheets covering the lower half of Viktor’s body, _Viktor himself_ looks like he should be left untouched, as masterpieces ought to be. It all looks like calculated grace, as though everything has been fixed and set to be beautiful, and Yuuri doesn’t _fit_ in any of this. No average person _could_ fit in this.

Yuuri doesn’t understand how Viktor can be comfortable in this kind of room, so beautiful yet _stiff_ in its arrangement, but what does he know, really? He’s not royalty, after all.

“Can I ask for one thing?” he says, all while climbing into the bed and under their (now-)shared sheets.

A smile instantly brightens up Viktor’s face, his blue eyes bright with what seems to be excitement as he says, “ _Anything_ , Yuuri. You need only ask.”

He smiles, awkward and strained, and says, “Can you be honest with me?”

Viktor blinks. “Honest?” he parrots, confused.

“Don’t,” Yuuri pauses to swallow, licking his lips out of nervousness before continuing, “don’t pretend with me. I know that you’re royalty, and that I shouldn’t presume to know anything, but.” He catches his lower lip under his teeth, breathing in through his nose as he fidgets with the sheets over his lap. “I don’t want you to act like you think you should, with me. Just…be yourself, is what I mean.” Then he smiles, a little more genuine this time as he looks up at Viktor. “I can offer you the same, even if it’s not worth much. I just don’t want you to put any masks around me when you don’t have to. It must be tiring, right?”

“Oh,” Viktor murmurs, staring up at him from his place on the bed. His eyes are bright when Yuuri looks into them, sparkling with a soft kind of joy (he assumes), and he looks…

He looks beautiful, like this. There’s something to his expression, the soft smile on his face and the pink flush of his cheeks, that tells Yuuri he’s not used to being told to be himself. It aches in the pit of his chest, that Viktor could look so happy at such a small thing, but he’s glad that he can, at the least, offer this.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, and Yuuri flushes pink at the wondrousness in his tone. “ _Yuuri_ , you’re wonderful.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he mutters under his breath as he wiggles down into the bed, lowering himself until he’s lying on his back completely. It doesn’t help in avoiding Viktor’s bright-eyed gaze, and he makes to turn over so he can do just that- but he’s halted, all too quickly, when Viktor reaches out an arm to hold him still. “Viktor?” he asks, confused and a tiny bit flustered at the physical contact.

“You said you wanted me to be honest, yes?” Viktor says, and he nods hesitantly. “Then, please,” Viktor says, a kind of honesty in his tone that leaves Yuuri feeling like he’s stepping into a whole new world entirely, “let me hold you? I want…I don’t want to feel alone.”

“You want to hug me?” he asks, just to be certain. Viktor nods eagerly, and he lets out a breath of relief that it hadn’t been a euphemism for anything else. “That’s fine,” he concedes, turning to lie on his side so he’s facing Viktor completely. His heart is ready to burst out of his chest at the mere notion of being embraced by _Viktor_ , but it’s a lighter and better option than anything else, right?

Right.

“I’m so glad,” Viktor says, smile soft and warm and almost blinding as he opens his arms to wrap them around Yuuri, who obediently wraps his own arm around Viktor’s waist, though he does so a bit more hesitantly. “Usually,” Viktor begins, voice a rumble through his chest that Yuuri feels when Viktor tucks him into his warmth, “I would have Makkachin to hold, but she’s being taken care of by the royal groomer. I’ll only get her back tomorrow morning.”

Yuuri remembers vague images of Viktor’s dog, a fluffy silver-beige poodle that’s often by his side, and his chest aches. While he understands that Vicchan is gone and that there’s nothing he can do for him anymore, it still hurts that Yuuri could lose him so easily when he’s barely even spent _years_ with him due to his training with Minako-sensei.

It’s too late to regret that now, though.

“Mm,” he hums his understanding, not wanting Viktor to become suspicious of his lack of an answer.

Viktor squeezes him once in response, before going on to say, “But, and I hope Makkachin forgives me for this,” at this Yuuri blinks, staring down at Viktor’s bare chest with furrowed brows in confusion, “I think I like holding you better.”

Yuuri…

has absolutely no words for that.

His face is heated up in embarrassment, he’s sure, and he tries to hide it by burrowing further into Viktor’s warm embrace. Viktor makes a happy sound at that, something like a sigh and a hum, and immediately squeezes Yuuri close as though trying to keep him buried forever in Viktor’s warmth.

He lets himself be held and hopes, with eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched in an attempt at silence, that he’ll be able to sleep even as he’s held like this in Viktor’s arms.

(He already knows, deep inside his heart, that it’s a hopeless wish.

Still.

It doesn’t hurt to dream, right?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOoo boy this one took a long time, and it's un-betaed too ;;; sorry for any mistakes! I would appreciate it if you pointed them out to me so I can fix them asap ♥♥ Ofc, other feedback is also very much appreciated! Let me know if you want me to write more, or if you have any suggestions!! 
> 
> Thank you so much for the support so far, friends!! I really do appreciate ♥♥ ;;v;;


	5. Chapter 5

 

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

Yuuri makes a confused whine-like noise at the wake-up call, snuggling further into the surprisingly soft sheets he’s surrounded by. He bats at the fingers poking and prodding at him, before stopping when he hears the soft laugh that follows after his light swatting.

That _laugh_.

He’s not familiar with that laugh. The voice, he can vaguely place in his head, but…

_Oh no. Oh no, no no no._

“V-Viktor?” he murmurs, peeking out of the sheets with only the upper half of his face visible to Viktor’s sight.

Viktor smiles happily at him, an odd kind of warmth in his eyes as he leans over the bed to hover above him. Yuuri stifles a choked up sound at the sudden proximity, though he can’t help the widening of his eyes as he stares up at Viktor’s face. “You’re finally awake,” Viktor says, voice sultry smooth as he leans back, only to reach out and brush back the strands of hair falling in Yuuri’s face.

Yuuri’s face is likely imitating a tomato at this point, and he can’t even _blame_ his body for it. How else would a normal person react, having their idol so close? He’s certain there’s no other way for anyone else to take this.

“Were you- am I _late_?” he says, a growing horror showing itself in his eyes as he scrambles to untangle himself from the sheets. “Madame Baranovskaya-”

“-can’t berate you when you’re still almost two hours early, _сладкий_.” Viktor’s lips quirk up to one side into an amused smile, and Yuuri bites the inside of his cheek to stifle any more embarrassing sputtering. “I just woke you up so you could have your bath and breakfast before anything else.”

“Oh,” Yuuri blinks, slowly feeling his heart calm as he sits up on the bed. He makes to grab at his glasses on the bedside table, before jerking on instinct when he all-too-suddenly feels Viktor’s warmth right by his side. “Viktor? Wh- oh,” he breathes out, putting a hand to his chest before reaching out with his other hand to the pair of glasses Viktor has in one hand. “Thank you- _um_?” he chokes out a surprised sound when Viktor chooses to settle his glasses on his face himself, breath catching in his throat as Viktor’s fingers brush his temple as they pull away.

“You have an _onsen_ , yes? You told me before,” Viktor tells him, and he blinks. He blinks again, just to be sure, before furrowing his brows in confusion at the non sequitur. It’s a good way to get him to calm his racing heart, sure, but where was this question coming from?

“Yes? We do,” he answers, words coming out slowly from his mouth as he tries to understand where this is going.

“In an _onsen_ it’s like sharing a bath, right?”

Yuuri’s frown deepens. He still doesn’t understand where this is going. “Yes..? It’s like that, I suppose.”

Viktor grins, and the intensity of his smile is so bright that Yuuri has to squint to keep himself from being blinded.

Wait.

He’s talking about sharing baths.

_Oh-_

“Then, it’ll be fine if we share a bath! I’d like to help you wash your back.”

“Um?!” Yuuri half-yelps half-squeaks, sitting up straight with a speed that would make Minako-sensei proud. “But-”

“I gave you your privacy yesterday, Yuuri,” Viktor says, lips pursed in a pout as he leans back to sit on his haunches. He’s an adult, age 27, but Yuuri very much feels like he’s facing a whiny teenager with how Viktor is acting. “And you offered yourself as my alpha, remember? This is a good way for us to know each other better!”

_His alpha._

Yuuri tries not to whimper at those very words, but it’s a hard-won battle considering the pleasure that creeps into his head at the thought of being Viktor’s _anything_. He was hurt by Viktor, certainly, but that doesn’t mean he could just forget _years_ of admiration and worship when faced by the man himself.

He’s not _that_ strong a human being (if he had ever been strong at all).

“I guess,” he concedes hesitantly, pressing his lips together in a firm line when Viktor smiles like a man victorious. Which he is, in a sense.

(Yuuri kind of hates it, if he were to be honest. More than anything, he hates the feeling of being the one to give in to another person. Even if it _is_ Viktor.)

“Come on, then,” Viktor says, far too cheery so early in the morning as he slides out of bed and holds out a hand for Yuuri to hold. “I already had a servant prepare the bath before you woke, so all we need to do is hop in and get clean.”

A servant prepared the hot water.

The bathroom is within Viktor’s bedroom, for ease of use.

A servant _saw them in bed together_.

Yuuri almost panics at the idea, until he remembers the truth of his situation. And, like a flash of lightning, numbness settles in his chest because-

this is what people are _expecting_ of him.

Because he already offered himself as Viktor’s alpha.

He sighs, giving up on the idea of panicking as he gets out of bed without taking Viktor’s hand for help. He follows after the man as he walks, trying his best not to stare at what he knows is his bare behind because his idol of 12 years, this painfully beautiful man, has absolutely no shame in showing off his gorgeous, well-built body, for completely understandable (but still embarrassing on his end!) reasons.

(He doesn’t notice Viktor’s hurt look when he disregards his helpful hand, too focused as he is on ignoring Viktor’s nudity.)

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri isn’t entirely sure if he’s thankful for his bad eyesight when he sets aside his glasses to get into the bathtub.

On one hand, he can’t overwhelm his own senses with a glimpse of Viktor’s naked body.

On the other hand, he kind of _wants_ to see Viktor’s naked everything, because it’s _Viktor_ , and Yuuri has an embarrassing crush on him even despite his pettiness.

Well.

It’s probably for the best that his eyesight is so bad, anyway.

“How bad is your eyesight, Yuuri?”

He blinks at the question, feeling vaguely like his mind has been read as he looks up at Viktor, who’s just now getting into the tub with him. “Bad enough that I can’t see your features much,” Yuuri answers, before sucking in a breath when Viktor _swoops_ close to him like there’s no such thing as personal space.

Going with what he’s noticed from Viktor so far? It wouldn’t be a surprise if personal space isn’t a concept existing in his dictionary at all.

“Can you see me like this?” Viktor asks, only a breath away from Yuuri’s face as he looks expectantly at him.

Yuuri, who has already grown half-numb with his mind’s repetition of “ _it’s too late to regret this now_ ”, blinks, squints, then tells him, “You’re too close for me to see anything properly.”

“Then, like this?” Viktor asks, leaning back a bit but remaining close enough to be within Yuuri’s personal space still. He’s close enough to kiss, Yuuri thinks, before he clenches his jaw in an attempt to ward off that thought from going any further.

But, wait.

He could…couldn’t he? He has no idea on the rules Viktor has on what he will allow his harem members to do, but a kiss wouldn’t be so outrageous a thing to do, would it?         

“Yes,” he says, his voice coming out breathless in a way that even Viktor takes notice of it, going by the sudden flush of pink on his cheeks. Yuuri can’t help a smile at the look on Viktor’s  face as he scoots away, almost embarrassed, quickly forgetting the vague idea he’d entertained of kissing him. It would be an embarrassing attempt, he’s sure, given that he doesn’t have enough of the confidence to pull it off smoothly yet.

( _Yet_.)

“It’s been pretty bad since I was a kid,” he admits, voice soft as he starts soaping up his hair. It takes some time before he moves on to lathering soap on his body, all because his hair is thick- which is a fortunate thing he’d inherited from his parents. He’s not vain, never really one to care for his looks as much as he cared for his sport, but the thickness of his locks helps in dealing with the nigh-permanent coolness of the kingdom, which is something he’s grateful for.

He does not notice Viktor eyeing the downward trail of his hands as they rub soap down his abdomen.

“I’m sure you looked adorable then as you do now, wearing those glasses,” Viktor assures him, which-

“Wh-what?” Yuuri stutters, blinking wide-eyes at Viktor in befuddlement.

“You look adorable with your glasses,” Viktor repeats, as if it wasn’t bizarre enough to hear it the first time. Then he adds, oddly cheery, “You look good without them too, of course. I wouldn’t have picked you out of the line-up if I didn’t think you were beautiful.”

_Beautiful._

_He thinks I’m beautiful_.

Yuuri sucks in a breath before he can get too overwhelmed, letting it out in a shaky exhale as he eyes Viktor with what he hopes is subtle wariness. It’s not the first time he’s been complimented as such, but every other experience he’s had was from an alpha looking to stake his claim on who he assumed was an omega. Someone who’d actually _expect_ to be called beautiful.

Not an alpha like him.

But Viktor knows what he is, has perhaps chosen him specifically because he _is_ an alpha, and Yuuri doesn’t understand where all of this is coming from.

“Thank you, I guess,” he mumbles, scratching nervously at the inside of his arm. Better to gracefully wave the compliment off than to get too deeply into it, he supposes.

“That’s not the only reason I chose you, though,” Viktor adds, making Yuuri turn his head up to look at him again out of curiosity.

“Is it because I’m an alpha?” he guesses.

Viktor claps, the motion making little spatters of bubbly water fly into the air from his soapy palms. “It’s because you’re a surprise!” Viktor says, smile bright as he clasps his hands together over his chest. “You’re beautiful, unexpected, and you took my breath away the moment I met you, _дорогой._ ”

“What does that mean?” he asks, before he can forget completely, as he had just a few moments before. (That, and he’d really rather not discuss the idea of Viktor finding him so attractive that he became breathless with it.) “Dara-daragoy..?” he repeats, wincing at the mangled pronunciation.

“Close enough, _дорогой,_ ” Viktor repeats, smile somewhat- soft? as he finishes lathering soap over his body. “The vowels are somewhat softer, but you’ve got it mostly right. It’s a little like calling you my darling.”

“D-darling,” Yuuri parrots, feeling even more self-conscious as he hugs his knees to his chest. He notes the gentle possessiveness in Viktor’s tone, and struggles not to shiver in pleasure. (Why is he so _weak_ , when he was the one stubborn enough to be annoyed with the _Prince_? Why couldn’t he make up his mind?!)

Then he pauses, considering the information he’s recently been given. “Do you,” he begins, a bit nervous at sounding nosy, “do you usually call your harem members like that?”

Viktor laughs at him. He blinks, because he has no idea what he’s said to earn such a reaction.

“Of course not,” Viktor says, waving away the very idea like it’s _impossible._ Like it’s more believable that he would call Yuuri an affectionate name for _absolutely no reason_. Then he goes on to add, “Why would I?”

“But. But?” Yuuri scrambles for words, befuddled as he stares at Viktor. “They came before me, and you’ve surely spent more time with them…”

“But they’re not my favorite,” Viktor says with a wink, which should look ridiculous and _not attractive_ on him while he’s half-covered by bubbles and soapy suds. He explains further, “They may be your elders if we’re talking about the length of their stay, but I chose them out of necessity more than anything else.”

_Out of necessity..?_

Oh.

He flushes, desperately trying to erase the image of Viktor going into a rut in his head. “I see,” he chokes out, hoping he’s not as flushed as he feels at the idea of Viktor choosing candidates because he _needs_ to. For his _rut_.

Ugh!

“Wait,” his mouth begins to say before his mind can catch up, his eyes blinking as he stares up at Viktor. “They were out of necessity? Then I’m…”

“I chose you specifically because I want you,” Viktor answers his unspoken question, expression unreadable as he sinks into the tub, washing away the suds that had collected on the lower half of his body. “I don’t really like it, having to choose people to add to my,” he pauses, looking almost disgruntled, “ _harem_ , but my advisers don’t leave me much choice. I _could_ ignore them, but given my options, I thought it would be easiest to just go along with it.”

Then, a lot like sunshine after a storm, Viktor smiles and says, “But then you came! I don’t mind it as much anymore, because of you.” He pauses, looking he’s casually looking for another way to implode Yuuri’s mind with his revelations, “Though I doubt I’ll add any more after you. There’s no point, really. I’m sure they’ll understand that.”

What?

_What?_

“Could you wash my back, Yuuri?” Viktor asks out of nowhere, completely unaware of how he’s made a mess out of Yuuri’s mind with mere words.

“Yes,” Yuuri says, numb as he accepts the sponge Viktor hands him right before he turns around. Almost mechanically, he begins rubbing the sponge over Viktor’s back.

“You should tell me more about yourself,” Viktor says, seeming content with the treatment as he cocks his head to one side.

“I don’t have much to say,” Yuuri answers, not to be contrary as he is just honest. There’s not much to him- he’s not royalty, not a genius at anything, and not particularly talented. He only got so far with skating because he worked hard for it.

(And look at where that got him.)

“What’s your favorite animal?” Viktor asks.

Automatically, Yuuri answers, “Dogs.”

For some reason, Yuuri can imagine the bright-eyed smile on Viktor’s face when he says, “Me too!”

Yuuri smiles, somehow managing to lose some of the tension that had seeped into his shoulders at Viktor’s early morning revelations. “I can tell,” he says, gently scrubbing his way down Viktor’s lower back, “since you love Makkachin so much.”

“That I do,” Viktor hums. “She was such a tiny pup when I first got her, and now she’s big enough to reach a third of my height if she’s on her hind paws.” There’s a thoughtful pause that has Yuuri pausing as well, hands frozen on the middle of Viktor’s upper back.

“She’s older now,” Viktor continues, voice soft as he bows his head. “I just want to spend more time with her, make sure she’s happy.”

Unspoken, Yuuri hears, _But I can’t._

It’s quiet, for a long while. Viktor doesn’t say anything as Yuuri washes away the soap from his back, nor does he say anything when Yuuri pulls away to his own side of the bath to sit on the rim of it.

“Viktor?”

“Hm?” Viktor hums, tilting his head to the left in a sign of attention.

“Could you come here? So I can wash your hair?”

Yuuri doesn’t say anything as Viktor perks up, shoulders rising as though there hadn’t been any weight on them at all. He seems all too eager to follow Yuuri’s request, turning swiftly to scoot to the other end of the tub. Yuuri waves his hand in a gesture for him to turn around and he does, humming happily as Yuuri scrubs the soap further into his scalp.

“I could be there for her,” he offers quietly, knowing all too well the pain of not being able to spend more time with Vicchan. “I can’t replace you, nor would I ever want to, but I know what it’s like to have an old dog.”

“You do?” Viktor asks, voice just as soft.

“He was named Vicchan,” he answers, smiling wistfully as he starts pouring water over Viktor’s head. “He was always so eager to play. He’s smaller than your Makkachin, kind of like a forever puppy, but, well.” He shakes his head, clenching his jaw to keep from crying. “Nothing really lasts forever. He died from old age, in his sleep.”

“Yuuri...”

“I’m sure Makkachin knows very well that you love her,” he says while scrubbing away the soap in Viktor’s hair, not wanting to dwell too much on Vicchan.

“I’d be very glad if she does,” Viktor says. Then, after a short pause, he adds, “I’m sure Vicchan knew you loved him too.”

“I wish he did,” he says, voice cracking a bit at the reminder that maybe he didn’t, maybe he felt lonely because Yuuri was always gone from home.

“Hey, Yuuri?”

He hums, watching Viktor as he peeks up at him from over his shoulder. “What?” he asks, trying for a fake smile so Viktor wouldn’t have to see how miserable he actually is.

“You should turn around, so I can wash your back.”

“There’s no need-”

“I _insist_ ,” Viktor says, voice and gaze firm as he turns to look at Yuuri.

There’s a few seconds of them just staring at each other, as though willing the other to back down, before Yuuri gives in with a sigh. “As you wish,” he murmurs, turning in place to show Viktor his back.

(He won’t admit it, but he’s kind of grateful for the reprieve from having to face the prince.)

Viktor hums as he lathers soap over Yuuri’s back, a musical tone to his voice that tells of a song stuck in his head. Yuuri has to admit that he might...enjoy it, with Viktor’s voice being as soothing as it is.

“Why did you offer yourself to be mine?”

Yuuri’s heart stops.

“You could have tried to court me instead,” Viktor continues, unaware of the panic slowly rising to the surface of Yuuri’s thoughts. “My advisers would have put up less of a fuss if you did it that way. Sure, you might not be royalty,” Yuuri winces at the reminder, “but they’d have preferred you going through the normal way instead of this.”

 _This_ being: him, choosing to be a courtesan of Viktor’s harem.

“I wanted,” he begins, voice tremulous as he clenches his arms around his knees.

“You wanted..?”

“I wanted to surprise you,” he confesses, words choked out of him as he squeezes his eyes shut.

There’s a drawn-out silence as Viktor’s hands move to further scrub the soap into his hair. It’s not necessary, at this point- his hair is soaped up enough as it was- but Viktor doesn’t seem to care.

It’s unfair, that he has to be so vulnerable twice now, just because of the same man.

“You got what you wanted,” Viktor says eventually, voice in an almost-whisper as he starts pouring water over Yuuri’s hair and back.

“Huh?”

“You surprised me,” Viktor explains, smile more heard than seen as he scrubs out the soap from his hair. “I had already made my choice before you even spoke, but you admitted to being an alpha and I...I liked that. I liked your honesty.”

“I didn’t expect to be accepted,” he confesses, eyes still shut to avoid getting any suds in them. _I didn’t expect you to want me._

“We’re all exceeding expectations then, aren’t we,” Viktor says more than asks, a pleased hum escaping him as he massages the soap out of Yuuri’s hair.

He wants to say that he kind of hates how it feels, being reduced to putty like this under Viktor’s touch, but that would be the second biggest lie he’s pulled in two days.

He’d rather not chance it, lest he lose his tongue for even thinking lies.

“Would you have hidden your true gender, if you thought it would help?” Viktor asks.

Firmly, he says, “No.”

Viktor hums. “Why not?”

“I’ve hidden enough of myself,” he says, the honesty more freeing than anything else on his mouth. “I don’t want to hide this. I know that it could be easier, to just pretend to be what they think I am- I know that I  wouldn’t have to suffer as much judgment at the sport that I love if I just hid what I was.”

“Sport..?”

“Skating.”

“Oh,” Viktor breathes out, sounding...awed? It’s a strange reaction, given Yuuri’s clipped tone towards him. “That’s amazing.”

“It would be, if I was any better at it,” he says bitterly, smile wry on his face as he watches the water dripping from his bangs.

“I thought you were beautiful, that first time I saw you,” Viktor tells him.

“You thought I was an _omega_ ,” he says, trying his hardest not to spit the words out in irritation. In his head, he adds, _I expected better from you._

For a few seconds, there is only the sound of dripping water and soft breathing.

Then, in a quiet, remorseful tone, Viktor says,

“I’m sorry.”

Yuuri breathes out, pressing his palms together over his nose and mouth as he tries his best to will away the anxiety bubbling in the pit of his chest. “It’s fine,” he lies, shaking his head before getting onto his feet. He gets out of the tub without waiting for Viktor, grabbing the nearest towel he can find and wringing out the excess water in his hair. He says, tone low in his throat, “You aren’t the first to think that I’m an omega. I’m,” he pauses, mid-ruffle, “I’m used to it. There’s nothing wrong with being one, anyway.”

_I just hate being ignored for what I truly am._

 

* * *

 

 

Breakfast is a quiet affair when they eat in Viktor’s bed.

Viktor doesn’t say anything when Yuuri dresses himself at a distance, movements as quiet as possible as he keeps his body turned away from Viktor the whole time. Not a word is uttered even when Yuuri takes his plate of _blini_ and begins eating at the edge of the bed, away from him. Yuuri doesn’t say anything either, head too full of worry at overstepping his bounds with what he’d said and done earlier.

It would be so easy, for Viktor to punish him for his insolence. It would only take one word.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says eventually, breaking through the quiet with a deceivingly gentle voice. Yuuri tenses, mind going a mile a minute trying to think of what Viktor will say. It wouldn’t be surprising if Viktor regretted his decision to take Yuuri now, given what had just happened while they were bathing.

“I’m sorry."

Yuuri blinks, brows furrowing as he replays what Viktor had just said in his head.

_I’m sorry._

_I’m sorry?_

“I said it was fine,” Yuuri mumbles, too tired to argue. He chews on a forkful of blini, annoyed that Vikor hasn’t given up on it yet.

“But it’s really not, I can tell.”

_Then why are you pushing it, if you know that?_

“I know it won’t do any good to explain myself, and it’s just like I’m justifying my own actions when I’m in the wrong, but,” Viktor pauses, forcing Yuuri to look up and see-

Viktor, guiltily chewing on his lower lip.

One of Yuuri’s eyebrows rises in bemusement.

“I guess I forgot what it’s like, to have people assuming things about you.” Viktor smiles, and it looks a lot more like _Prince Viktor_ than the Viktor who’d brazenly chosen Yuuri to be his out of a line-up of betas and omegas.

Somehow, he can tell that this smile is only as real as the smiles he wears whenever he’s failed at a skating event.

“I got used to being called an omega when I was younger, that I assumed it wouldn’t be a problem for anyone else,” Viktor confesses, the words light on his tongue but heavy in the air as Yuuri looks at him. “I thought, since I could swallow people denying what I am, that other people would be fine with it too. That I’m just too sensitive, that there’s really no reason for offense.”

Yuuri’s heart drops, dismay a slow-growing thing in the pit of his stomach as he finally understands what Viktor is saying.

Viktor smiles sadly, and Yuuri’s heart breaks.

“I guess I was wrong, hm?”

Yuuri swallows, trying to keep the pieces of his heart together as he finally turns to face Viktor fully. He stands, sets his plate of blini on the bedside table, before sitting by Viktor at the head of his bed and leaning in enough that he’s sure to get Viktor’s attention. “Viktor,” he says, voice choked up as he finally notices the sadness playing in those blue eyes, “Viktor, I’m sorry. I’m sorry too, for presuming things.”

Viktor laughs, waving off the apology as though it were that easy. “Yuuri,” he says, smiling in such a forced way that Yuuri’s grip on his heart slips, “it’s fine. I was at fault for assuming too much of a stranger then.”

“And I’m sorry still, for presuming that you would be the kind of insensitive person who wouldn’t understand how I feel,” Yuuri says, the firmness in his tone letting Viktor know that he won’t accept any arguments. “I should have known. It wasn’t a secret what people expected of you, back when you were younger.”

“And did you expect the same?” Viktor says, trying for a joking tone.

“I didn’t expect anything like that,” Yuuri says, watching the play of light in Viktor’s eyes, “because all I knew was that you were beautiful, and it didn’t matter what your secondary gender was.”

Silence settles on them like a heavy blanket at that confession, before Yuuri notices the light flush of red spreading on Viktor’s cheeks. “Wow,” Viktor whispers, looking awed once more as he stares back at Yuuri.

 _Oh, god_.

“I-I’m sorry, that was presumptuous of me,” Yuuri stutters, leaning away and scooting back a few feet away from Viktor as he tries to compose himself. “I just...I did- I _do_ \- think that you’re beautiful. Anyone would be blind not to think so.”

“But I don’t think I’ve ever felt it sound so honest as it does coming from your mouth,” Viktor says, smile more honest and playful now as he looks at Yuuri. Yuuri would be relieved that he helped in getting rid of the sadness in those eyes, but really, he’s just _embarrassed_ that he could be so shameless as to push himself on Viktor like that.

“Um?” he smiles nervously, before picking up his plate of blini and shoveling forkfuls of it into his mouth. When Viktor laughs at him with palpable incredulity, he explains, “I still need to train with Madame Baranovskaya, so-”

“Say no more,” Viktor says, blue eyes a-gleam with amusement as he watches Yuuri eat.

“There will be plenty of time for us to get to know each other better, after all.”

 

* * *

 

 

They’re walking down the halls of the palace to Madame Baranovskaya’s dance hall when child-like, whiny Viktor makes his appearance once again.

“I wish you could see Makkachin,” Viktor says, sounding oddly mournful for such a small thing as he bumps shoulders with Yuuri.

It’s such a cute gesture, Yuuri can’t help himself from bumping Viktor back. He steadfastly does not react to the bright smile Viktor sends his way.

“You could have gone to get her sooner instead of waiting on me,” Yuuri points out, which earns him a pout from Viktor. It’s still surreal, seeing the contrast of the cool, untouchable Prince Viktor of his childhood with _this_ Viktor, who seems to be making it his life mission to give Yuuri a heart attack from both his childishness and undeserved fondness.

“It would be very un-gentlemanly of me to leave you alone to get lost on your way to Madame Baranovskaya’s class,” Viktor says matter-of-factly.

Yuuri snorts, not bothering to feel embarrassed at the ungraceful sound when Viktor gasps in mock-offense at him. “I could have asked the other servants,” he says, smiling in amusement without once looking at Viktor. “It’s not that much of a hardship to ask for directions.”

“But I wanted to spend more time with you. Would you deny me that?”

“I’m not denying you anything,” Yuuri points out with a raised brow, “ _you_ were the one denying yourself the opportunity to let Makkachin meet me because you chose to waste your time leading me here.”

They stop in front of large, ornate doors, all wooden and filled with carved swirls as they remain shut before them. “Yuuri,” Viktor says, voice firm as he gives him a hard look. “It was _not_ a waste of time to be with you.”

Yuuri flushes at the implication in those words, but waves it off before he can bury himself a deeper grave. “If you say so.” He adds, already touching the doors and making to push them open, “You should go and get Makkachin, so she won’t be lonely.”

“That is _cheating_ ,” Viktor accuses, which gets him a wide smile from Yuuri.

“Bye, Viktor,” Yuuri says, giving a little wave before he slips into the hall. He doesn’t hear Viktor’s steps as he leaves, though he assumes that’s more likely because of the soundproof nature of the doors and walls.

“Who’re you?”

He jerks at the voice, vaguely registering the familiarity of it as he spins around into a bow. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, I-”

“Katsudon?!”

Yuuri blinks at the name, slowly raising his head from his bowed position to see-

“Yurio?”


	6. Chapter 6

“What the hell are you doing here?” Yurio snaps, eyes wide and brows furrowed in bewilderment as he takes in the sight of Yuuri before him. Had Yuuri not known him well enough, he’d think that this was Yurio’s way of saying that he needs to get lost- but it’s been a good number of years of them knowing each other via private dance training, so Yuuri knows better than to believe so.

This does not stop him from feeling nervous, because this is _Yurio_ and he really, really doesn’t want to explain to a fifteen year old why he’s _here_ and _staying_.

“Um-”

“Oh, _no_ ,” Yurio says, voice low and horrified in his throat as his gaze darts back up from Yuuri’s chest to his face. “You did _not_ come here to court that old man, you _didn’t!_ I told you-”

“I didn’t exactly court him?” he says, feeling the sweat starting to form on his nape as he clenches and unclenches his fists by his sides. He opens his mouth to explain, closes it again once he realizes how bad it’ll sound, before finally settling on the one question that had popped into his head at the sight of Yurio in one of the palace’s dance halls. Yurio is too young, at least in Yuuri’s eyes, to even be considered as someone of a similar… _occupation_ as him. He asks, curious, “What are you doing here, though?”

“I’m being trained by that old hag who’s supposedly great at ballet,” Yurio huffs, folding his arms over his chest as he squints at Yuuri. “My дедушка is one of the palace’s doctors, and since the old man-” he groans at the unamused look on Yuuri’s face, “fine, _Viktor_ , thought he owed us something, he let me ask for whatever I wanted.”

Yuuri doesn’t bother to hide a short snicker from escaping. “And you _didn’t_ ask for leopard-print clothing?”

Yurio shrugs. “I asked for that too, obviously.” Then, because the world is a cruel, cruel place, Yurio says with a frown, “You _didn’t_ answer my question. What are _you_ doing here, katsudon?”

“For training, same as you,” Yuuri answers, smiling nervously.

“I’m not dumb, I figured that when you went into the dance hall in your tights and ballet slippers,” Yurio snaps, hand on his hips as he squints at Yuuri. “But why _here?_ You’re not exactly royalty, and I think I’d know if you have any connections around here.”

Yuuri smiles a more sincere smile at that, if not a little amused. “Would you? I’m not exactly the type to show off my connections.”

“You barely have any.”

“That’s what I _want_ you to think,” Yuuri teases.

“Have you always been this fucking immature?”

“I’ve always been young at heart,” Yuuri concedes, nodding solemnly despite the amusement threatening to show on his lips.

“You are so _annoying!_ ” Yurio yells, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat as he turns back to the barre with a graceful twist and the swift rise of one leg. “Fine, whatever! Don’t explain it to me!” He begins to aggressively go through the basic positions of ballet, making an odd picture out of himself as he manages to mix grace and anger in every movement. As a final vow, he yells, “I don’t care!”

Yuuri smiles, only barely managing to stifle a heaving sigh of relief that Yurio has always been too impatient to deal with people dilly-dallying around him. It’s manipulative to conceal the truth like this, he knows, but he’d rather not have Yurio having any bad ideas as to why he’s here. He’s already aware that the teen doesn’t hold him in high regard because of his weak mentality and intense admiration for Viktor; he’d rather not add “presented himself as a courtesan to the prince himself” to the list of his negative traits.

He breathes out in a soft exhale as he unrolls one of the mats set aside by the wall, before getting down to sit and gently stretching every part of his body that he can. He starts from the bottom at his ankles, before eventually going higher until he’s stretching with his body folded forward as he holds onto the tips of his toes.

“You were gone for a while.”

Yuuri blinks at the sudden sound of Yurio’s voice in the vast room. “A while?” he asks, confused as to what Yurio means.

“I was practicing alone with Minako,” Yurio makes a face when Yuuri gives him a pointed look, “- _sensei_ for weeks. Where the hell were you?” He shoots a glare at Yuuri from his place at the barre. “Letting yourself go again and stuffing your face with _katsudon?_ ”

If it were a stranger, maybe he’d flinch at the bare honesty. But it’s Yurio, and, well. He understands that beneath the aggressive words, Yurio is concerned. He wouldn’t have mentioned it at all if he didn’t care, after all. “I guess I _did_ let myself go for a while,” he confesses, looking back down as he continues to stretch. It’s not so hard to do it, even with the pudge in his belly, but the guilt is still there for how he let himself forget to care for his body just because he was turned away from the sport he loves. “I’ve never been strong, not like you are,” he says, smiling as he unfolds and sits up to look at Yurio. “So I guess I just coped with it like I usually do by eating a lot.”

Yurio’s face is weirdly pink even though the warm-ups he’s doing are light. Maybe it’s because he was doing heavier exercises before Yuuri came in? “Don’t be fucking stupid,” Yurio snaps, nose wrinkling in what Yuuri feels is annoyance- probably because he’s being too negative again? “You’re stronger than you think you are. If you were a weaker person, you’d hate skating forever after that failure of an audition as a palace dancer.”

Yuuri smiles wryly at the painful reminder of his shameful performance at the palace auditions. “What makes you think that I don’t hate it now?”

Yurio raises an eyebrow at him. “You’re more stubborn than me, _katsudon,_ and that’s saying something. I’m betting you skated again after you failed at the auditions because it’s how you cope with yourself.” He smirks at the alarmed, wide-eyed look on Yuuri’s face. “I’m right, huh?”

“Well,” Yuuri says, a warmer smile playing on his lips as he unfolds one leg and folds the other to stretch with a graceful forward-curve. “I guess you know me better than I thought you did.”

Yurio scoffs, probably trying to sound nonchalant, but failing when he can’t hide the tiny smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “As if I wouldn’t. You hang around me too much for me to not notice things.”

Yuuri laughs, unable to help himself at Yurio’s ( _honestly, kind of adorable_ ) self-assured tone of voice. “Of course,” he says, smiling as he stretches for a little longer, before pulling back and sitting up again. They don’t say anything for a few minutes, just quietly warming-up in the presence of one another, and Yuuri gets the niggling thought that it’s strange how Yurio is still training under Minako- _sensei_ when it seems he’s already been training under Madame Baranovskaya for a long while.

He steals a peek at Yurio’s petite form, watching him in his quiet concentration, and quietly shakes away the question from forming on his lips.

Yurio has his reasons to keep things to himself, and all Yuuri can do is respect that.

What good would any probing do, if it would only risk his own exposure?

 

* * *

 

It's hours later of training, body aching with a heart thrilled, that he realizes the improbability of his hope at keeping anything a secret.

The realization hits him in the chest upon the Madame's dismissal, literally, when he opens the door of the dance hall and finds himself a mere second later on the floor with a heap of dog on top of him. He can vaguely make out the yelp of “ _Makkachin, no!_ ” somewhere nearby, but every other word is lost on him when Makkachin’s face pops up in front of his own, perfectly fluffy and all too happy to see him, and he’s attacked once more with excited (and extremely wet) doggy kisses.

Yuuri can vaguely make out what Yurio and Viktor are telling each other as he laughs from the onslaught of affection, arms barely able to hold onto the wiggling mass of poodle resting on his chest. “It’s fine, I’m fine,” he manages to say, a grin on his face as he struggles and succeeds in sitting up to heft the dog onto his lap. It doesn’t quite erase the niggling sense of worry in the back of his head, even more so with how Yurio is staring down Viktor, but he’s hardly one to push away a perfectly nice dog that wants his love.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Yurio snaps. Yuuri winces at his rudeness, but Viktor seems used to it enough that he just smiles.

“Why, I’m giving Makkachin a walk, of course! Am I no longer allowed to traverse my own halls?”

The hint of condescension rankles enough at Yurio’s nerves that he visibly wrinkles his nose at him in annoyance. Yuuri quickly urges Makkachin off of his lap and shifts to a stand. He clears his throat before Yurio can say anything more, and asks, “Where are you going after this, Yurio?”

Yurio huffs. If he notices that Yuuri had deliberately interrupted, he doesn’t comment on it. He says, “I’m picking Potya up from the groomer’s and visiting дедушка to bring him lunch.” There’s a pause, before a mischievous grin grows on his face and he asks, “Does Minako-sensei know that you’re here, with the old hag?”

“ _Hm._ ”

Yuuri jolts at the sudden hum behind him. He turns and sees Madame Baranovskaya looking deeply unsatisfied, though she certainly looked the same for most of the hours she was training them. She turns from looking at Yurio to look at him, and he blinks. “You are also a student of Minako’s?” she asks, with a weight that implies- _something_.

He gulps.

“Yes, Madame,” he says.

“And yet, you are here.”

He feels the sweat forming on his nape, though it doesn’t feel particularly warm in the palace. In the corner of his eyes, he can see Viktor looking between two of them with curiosity, but he doesn’t focus on that lest the Madame click her tongue at him in disapproval. “Yes, I am,” he says, trying for a firmness that he doesn’t quite feel. His fingers twitch at the brush of fur against his hand when Makkachin circles him, but he doesn’t budge.

She narrows her eyes at him. “She would let a student of hers go like this? I had thought better of her.”

Like lightning, a sense of protectiveness strikes his lungs that keeps his anxiety at bay. He says, tone hard, “Minako-sensei is my teacher, but she is not my handler. Whatever decisions I make are my own. My choices don’t change the fact that she taught me well.”

Lilia raises a sharp eyebrow at him. Yurio makes an amused sound from his side, but he doesn’t bother to look at him. He doesn’t need to; the sound is more than enough for Yuuri to know that he’s smiling smugly at the sudden burst of confidence.

“Who’s Minako?”

Yuuri twitches, all of the tension in his bones practically fading as he turns to see-

-a strained smile on Viktor’s face?

He blinks, confused.

“She’s my ballet teacher,” he says slowly, frowning at how _obvious_ Viktor’s unease is. He doesn’t know Viktor well enough to be able to categorize his expressions, for all that he’d like to say that he idolizes him a lot, but _this_ is clear enough even for his bad eyesight. Even Makkachin seems to sense it, going by the way that she leaves him to whine and paw at Viktor’s trousers. “Is…is there something wrong?”

“Probably thinking you’ve got a thing with Minako-sensei,” Yurio answers for him, before wrinkling his nose and making a retching sound. “ _Blech_.”

“ _Yuri Plisetsky_ ,” Madame Baranovskaya begins, to which Yurio freezes, “don’t make such unattractive sounds.”

Yurio probably makes a noise of protest in response to that, but it doesn’t quite process in Yuuri’s head when he turns to look back at Viktor, who’s now staring at him with a weird mix of what seems to be hope and confusion while petting Makkachin. Yuuri feels much of the same, because the very _thought_ of Viktor considering that he’s in any way intimately involved with Minako is just-

 _no_. _God, no._

He smiles, more fueled by nerves than actual amusement. “You don’t really think that Minako-sensei and I would be involved in…that way, do you?”

Viktor is the one who blinks in surprise at him, this time. “You’re…not?” he asks, hesitantly.

Yuuri can’t help himself from sputtering at the very idea. “She’s like a second mother to me! I would never!” he exclaims in horror.

“Oh,” Viktor sighs, relieved, for some reason that Yuuri can’t quite understand yet. Maybe Viktor is the possessive type, and doesn’t like sharing his harem members? It’s a strange thought, given how kind and open he has been for the few hours that Yuuri has been with him.

You can’t really know someone from a few hours, though. And god knew he’d been wrong about Viktor before.

“Are we done here?” Yurio grumbles, arms crossed as he taps one foot on the floor.

Yuuri freezes at the sudden touch of warmth on his open palm, head practically jerking as he looks up at Viktor. “I don’t know,” Viktor says, smile placid on his face as he none too subtly twines his fingers with Yuuri’s own as though staking a claim without once looking at him. “Are we?”

Yurio eyes grow wide, brows furrowing further in an image of fury as he glares from their clasped hands to Viktor’s face. “What the _hell_ are you playing at, old man?” he snarls.

“ _Yura,”_ Madame Baranovskaya scolds.

Yurio clicks his tongue. His nose wrinkles with distaste, as though he’d been fed something spoiled and sour, and Yuuri feels his heart pause within his ribcage. It’s only an illusion of a feeling, he knows, but he certainly felt that sliver of light-headedness enough to warrant the possibility of it as a truth. Even Makkachin seems to sense his moment of distress; she barks softly at him, tail wagging and eyes wide as she pads her way to him. Yuuri doesn’t hesitate to pet her head when she comes close- _god knows_ he’d lose his breath entirely if he didn’t have something to hold on to.

How could he even hope to hide any of this, when Yurio already knows Viktor well enough to act so familiarly with him?

“Katsudon..?”

“You never told me that you and the Pri-” he stutters, word catching between his teeth when Viktor gives him a look, “ _Viktor_ know each other.”

Viktor smiles a bright, beautiful smile in the corner of his eyes. It’s unreal, so much so that Yuuri barely manages to acknowledge the warm hand squeezing around his own.

“As if I’d mention anything,” Yurio grumbles, mouth downturned in a grimace as he regards Viktor with an irked look. “You’re bad enough now, being his fa-”

Yuuri coughs loudly, with enough force that he distracts Viktor into looking at him with concern. “ _Yurio_ ,” he says, eyes wide with panic and what he hopes reads as “ _please don’t do this to me when he’s right here!_ ”

Yurio barely holds back a snort of laughter, but manages to catch himself at the last second with the stern look Madame Baranovskaya throws his way. This, of course, does not deter Viktor at all. Rather, he latches onto the moniker that Yuuri had just thrown out, and parrots with an amused smile, “ _Yurio?_ ”

Like a twig underfoot, Yurio snaps in a blink. “I’m _done,”_ Yurio bites out, already beginning to walk away with nary a farewell. The speed of his departure does nothing to hide that pink splotches dusting the tip of his cheeks or ears, and Yuuri’s lips tremble with a smile. Madame Baranovskaya follows after him, curiously enough, but not without giving him and Viktor both an almost-imperious nod of farewell.

“Don’t think you’re getting away with not explaining yourself, Katsudon!” Yurio manages to yell right before he can completely disappear from view. His face is annoyed enough that a stranger might be intimidated by it, even more so with how he’s pointing at Yuuri, but Yuuri knows better than to take him seriously.

“We’ll see,” Yuuri calls back, waving a little with his free hand. Yurio makes a face before stomping away, though it doesn’t take long before Madame Baranovskaya follows after him with a stern lecture on posture.

“Well,” Viktor says while watching them go, a playful smile on his face when Yuuri turns to look at him. “This says something about who he likes more, doesn’t it? He’s never that nice to me.”

He makes to reply, but stops short when Viktor brings their clasped hands up to leave a kiss on his knuckles. A choked-up unattractive sound escapes his mouth instead, though it only seems to make Viktor happy going by the beaming look on his face.

Yuuri coughs, struggling and failing to regain his composure. Somehow, he manages to ask, “How do the two of you know each other?”

Viktor hums in thought. They’ve already begun walking for what Yuuri assumes is Viktor’s room, Makkachin faithfully following after them, when he answers, “His grandfather, Kolya- or, well, Nikolai- is the royal physician. He’s been working here since I was a kid and still got scrapes and bruises from skating, so I know him well. Since his grandson was often around, my father thought it would be a good lesson for my future,” at this, his smile tightens, “so he made me babysit, in a sense. I’ve known Yura since he was no more than half my height.”

“Oh,” Yuuri hums, trying not to tense and hoping he’s not sweating as Viktor keeps holding onto his hand. “I guess it would make sense, that he doesn’t like you as much.”

Viktor makes a wounded noise at that, his expression one of betrayal as he pouts ( _pouts!_ ) at Yuuri. “What? I’ve been perfectly nice to him!”

“But he saw you as a babysitter,” Yuuri points out, smiling at the surprised look on Viktor’s face. “And he doesn’t take well to people seeing him as a child. It follows that he wouldn’t treat you as well as he would me.”

“And you?” Viktor asks, giving him a curious look. “What are _you_ to him?”

“A friend, I think,” Yuuri says, looking away when he feels the wet nose nudging at his knee. He gives Makkachin a good ruffle, smiling when he gets a soft “ _boof!_ ” in return. “Makkachin is very friendly, isn’t she?”

Yuuri feels the shrug Viktor makes when their clasped hands move. Viktor says, a lot more frank than teasing as he was before, “Only with the people she knows or likes, really.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says distractedly, hand petting still at Makkachin’s fur, up until the moment his brain catches up with the words he’s just heard. He presses his lips together, hoping to whatever higher power that he’s not blushing as much as he feels he is. “Well, um. It’s…nice, that she seems to like me.”

Viktor laughs. “Why wouldn’t she? _I_ like you.”

Yuuri makes another sound that he’s sure imitates another kind of dying animal.

“Are you alright? You keep making all of these strange noises,” Viktor says, gaze worried as he gives him a slow once-over. Then, after a pause, he asks with an amused smile, “You act like no one has ever liked you before, Yuuri.”

“No one has,” he begins, nose wrinkling at the offended look on Viktor’s face, “of the same _stature_ as you, _your highness_. It’s…strange, is all.”

“Oh, I doubt I’m the only prince you’ve managed to charm,” Viktor muses, thumb tracing unusually comforting circles on the back of his hand, “especially with your public performances in ballet.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then,

“ _What_?”

Viktor looks back at him in surprise, halted mid-step when Yuuri stops walking after him. Then he cocks his head, expression confused as he asks back, “What?”

“You knew that I was- _am_ \- a danseur?” Yuuri asks, his bafflement clear as the day in his wide eyes and raised-while-furrowed brows. He’s sure, if it were possible, that there would be question marks adorning the air around him now.

_How is it even possible, that the prince he’d idolized for so long would know a dime-a-dozen danseur like him before any of this?_

“Of course I did,” Viktor says, lips quirking up one side in amusement as he shifts to stand before him. Viktor untangles their fingers before moving his hold so that Yuuri’s fingertips are cradled in his palm, the same way princes usually hold the hands of princesses they greet with a kiss on the back of the hand. “It’s impossible to look away from you when you perform, Yuuri. You always looked so beautiful, so graceful, but ever so humble whenever I saw you with a fan- I suppose I just needed the excuse to speak to you that first time I saw you skate.”

“An excuse?” Yuuri parrots, failing to hide the fluster in his tone when Viktor smiles widely at him.

“I was so happy, that first time I saw you,” Viktor admits, eyes so bright with awe that Yuuri feels his younger self and his current self crying internally. “One of my favorite danseurs, skating! Practicing with the sport that I love! I thought that I was being charming when I spoke to you, but given recent revelations,” he smiles ruefully, “I was not. I’m just glad that you could forgive me at all.”

“It’s not completely your fault,” Yuuri says, still struggling to comprehend the recent truths being shoved into his chest. In an attempt at seeming to be in control of himself, he says, “It’s not your fault that no one validated how you felt when you were younger, which led to you assuming that you were just being over-sensitive. Still.” He swallows, trying his best not to sweat (even if he can’t really control it) as his gaze darts away and back to Viktor, “That doesn’t mean that you should assume people feel the same way as you about things. But you apologized, so.” He smiles weakly at Viktor. “It’s fine?”

“You’re too sweet,” Viktor says, smile so soft and pretty that Yuuri feels his heart packing itself up and planning its ascent out of his chest into Viktor’s arms.

_Keep it together, Yuuri!_

“No, that’s you,” he blurts out, which gets him another heart-shaped (and heart-stopping) smile. The expression is so sincere and kind, so awe-filled, that the crawl of guilt in his chest feels like an actual shockwave through his body when he remembers:

_He never told Viktor the full truth of why he presented himself to him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just checked and it's been 7 months since the last update lmfa o,, ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿ i'm so sorry
> 
> I hope y'all like the update!! Feedback and suggestions would be very much appreciated ♥♥
> 
> Translation notes:  
> дедушка / dedushka = grandfather

**Author's Note:**

> i did the thing, i hope y'all are happy lmfao
> 
> feedback is much appreciated, and will definitely motivate me to write more!!! ♥♥♥


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